


Scent of a Wolf

by WL_Erkling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 28,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WL_Erkling/pseuds/WL_Erkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone scatters as a patient comes onto the emergency wing; healer Potter rushes over to find none other than Draco Malfoy, but will the newly-bitten werewolf accept Potter's help?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and themes from the Harry Potter universe are the property of J.K. Rowling. I neither own, nor am making any profit from the writing or sharing of this story.

            When the doors flew open and everyone backed away, Harry looked up from his charting and wondered who was being brought in. That kind of reaction wasn’t too common in the emergency wing. Typically, when a stat case came through these doors, every available hand rushed forward and started shouting out orders, but not this time. With a quirked brow, Harry rose and went to see who was on the gurney. The first thing he saw was a shock of platinum blonde hair, but it was nearly impossible to tell since the rest of the pate was drenched in blood.

            The real question was, _whose_ blood? It didn’t take a genius to realize that no one was going to help the aurors rushing the patient in, so Harry reached into his pocket, grabbed for the wand there, and began casting basic diagnostic spells while directing the gurney to the nearest open room. He heard the name Malfoy mentioned several times, but it was background noise to what he saw in front of him. Labored breathing, dilated pupils, shock, foreign DNA in the blood. It would take another round of spells to identify what substance that was. First, he had to be stabilized.

            Once they managed to transfer the panicking man over to the hospital bed, his torso was strapped down as he went into convulsions. Harry cast a stabilizing charm on him, but realized that it wouldn’t do much good so long as the rest of Malfoy’s body was fighting him.

            “Conner, get in here!” He poked his head out only long enough to bark the command before returning to the man in the room, realizing that the aurors has backed off quickly, desperately trying to scourgify all traces of blood from themselves.

            “What happened to him?” When they didn’t answer quickly enough, Harry hit one of them with a wet-fish hex. It shook him from his stupor, a chill crawling up his spine into wary eyes.

            “Werewolf attack. He’s been bitten. Left leg.”

            Harry nodded and went to lift the stained trouser leg. It was clinging to the edge of the wound, so he tried to be careful, but ended up tugging it off in one go to avoid causing more pain. Conner was in the room now, helping to stabilize Malfoy’s breathing and get his body relaxed. The shock was taking over and he had lost consciousness, those steel eyes no longer fixing him with panicked questions that he couldn’t answer just yet.

            Harry cleaned the wound with a first-year spell and saw that it would heal nicely. The bite itself was shallow, but enough to allow for the werewolf venom to penetrate and get into Malfoy’s bloodstream. Due to this, Harry nodded toward the wrist cuffs and Conner worked efficiently at securing each arm to the bed. For one, long moment, Harry took in a long breath and thought of Teddy. He thanked Merlin that his godson did not have to go through the trauma of being bitten and instead was born with his werewolf traits. Looking down, he grimaced. His watch showed the full moon coming the next day. Malfoy wouldn’t have much time then.

            Once the blonde was stabilized, wound wrapped, and had food waiting on a bed-side tray, Harry walked out of the room. His eyes darted back and forth from each of his coworkers as they all resolutely looked down at their own charts. Harry grabbed Malfoy’s chart and took it to the nurse’s station. Once there, he pulled up a stool, grabbed a quill, and wrote down his observations, notes, and treatment plan. His shift was almost over, so the change-over would have to be very careful with a new werewolf on a trauma floor. The overwhelming scent of blood alone could send him into a panic. His nose crinkled and he made sure to note that it would probably be a good idea to keep Malfoy’s door shut when treatment was not currently being given. Also, no extra scents should be introduced. No one wearing overbearing perfume or cologne should treat. Of course, anyone who feared werewolves should be excluded immediately. He already had enough on his plate to worry about that. He didn’t need to scent sweat, panic, and adrenaline on someone who was supposed to be caring for him. Harry sighed. Malfoy’s treatment would not be easy here, but it wouldn’t be the first time they’d treated a newly-bitten wolf.

            It seemed like an hour later when Harry had set aside the chart, taken a deep breath, and prepared to discuss his patients with the oncoming mediwitch for the shift change. Just as she arrived, none other than Narcissa Malfoy walked onto the unit, looking as graceful as ever. Her hair was done up in its usual brad and bun. Her robes were floor-length plum today, lined with silver leaves and vining. She strode through the staff and visitors as if she had a mission and Harry was the answer to all of her problems. An inward need to flee was only kept in check by the third-year mediwitch standing beside him.

            “Where is he?” She seemed almost breathless, not unusual in its tenderness toward her only son.

            “He’s in 5B. He’s stable and resting. You should continue to let him rest.” Harry’s emphasis on the last three words were pointed, but Narcissa pinned him with the Malfoy glare and the mediwitch beside them simply began to back away. “Mediwitch Levine, this is Narcissa Malfoy, the mother of patient in 5B, our newly-bitten werewolf. Please see that she does not disturb his rest, as his body is undergoing many significant changes right now.” Narcissa gasped, reaching out for Harry’s arm.

            “What did you just say?” Each word was punctuated very carefully.

            “I said many things Mrs. Malfoy. What have they told you of Draco’s condition?”

            “Nothing. I was only told that he was here.”

            Harry frowned, but continued. “He was attached by a former death eater. The man was a werewolf. Draco was bitten and is, even now, undergoing the change. It is very unfortunate for him that tomorrow is the first full moon. Since it is so soon, he may not change entirely, but he surely will have many of the wolf’s characteristics, his emotions will be running in overdrive, he will very possibly be a danger to himself and other people that he sees as a threat to anyone he cares about.”

            Narcissa stood there, lips pursed, and didn’t say anything for a moment. “Mr. Potter, I believe that your mediwitch has not the desire to care for my son.”

            Harry turned around, looking at Levine. She had cocked her hip, folded her arms, and was sneering in disgust. “Mediwitch Levine, may I have a word?” Harry reached out and took the woman’s elbow before stepping just out of hearing range of the Malfoy matron. “Do you have any prejudices that will prevent you from caring for the patient in 5B?”

            “That is not a patient. That is now a creature. It belongs in another ward.”

            Harry tilted his head, soaking in the words. “Mediwitch Levine, as the charge wizard, I am sending you home. I cannot believe that you would refuse care to a wounded patient. Please gather your things and go home.”

            When Harry returned to Narcissa, she was watching Levine carefully.

            “She is leaving and will not be caring for Draco. It looks like I will be working a double today, Mrs. Malfoy. You are more than welcome to see him now, but I recommend a short visit, then letting him rest through tomorrow evening. He will need time to adjust to his new view on the world.” Harry gestured toward the door. “If you will.” Once Narcissa was tucked into a chair by the still unconscious Draco’s side, Harry checked his vital signs, then retreated back to the nursing station before making rounds of the unit.


	2. Chapter 2

            Raking a hand through unruly hair, Harry takes a deep breath and shakes out his hand. His eyes close for a moment and then he casts a quick tempus. Only a couple more hours to go before he can floo home and collapse. He is nearly to the point of asking Catherine to cast an ennervate on himself when he hears a raised male voice, then a snarl. Room 5b is directly across from the nursing station Harry was sitting at, so he is there in seconds. He throws the door open, alert and wide-eyed, with wand at the ready.

            “Jonathon, what’s going on in here?” He looks to the aide who is even now backing further into the corner as if he can somehow manage to walk backward through the wall if he wishes it enough. Harry looks to Draco, who is sitting up on the bed, lip raised in a snarl and tugging at the wrist restraints. “Jonathon.” It was stern this time, but even if it did not get the other man’s attention, it pulled the patient’s attention solely on him.

            Jonathon ran from the room, leaving Harry staring at a frustrated Malfoy. “Want to tell me what just happened?” He cocked his chin to the side just a little, raised his brow, and waited. If his arms were crossed in a seemingly impatient manner, the new wolf didn’t seem to care.

            Draco ignored the question and instead began scenting the room in short, quick intakes of breath. His mouth was slightly parted, the soft pink of his tongue just visible between straight rows of teeth. He lowered his head and blonde fringe draped down to cover one eye, which remained closed for just a moment before he growled out, “You stink, Potter.”

            At that, Harry laughed. It was not a short, surprised laugh, but a whole-body belly laugh. He was nearly bent over with it and Draco was not amused. Rather, he had the perfected Malfoy glare aimed right at the mediwizard and was waiting for Harry to stop. Harry held up a hand and took a tapped Draco’s bed frame. “That’s rich, considering that the only reason I’m still in this bloody ward right now is because of a certain git that went and got himself bit by a werewolf and has half of the staff scared out of their minds.” The glaring continued. “So yes, Draco, I stink because I haven’t made it home to shower yet. I’ve been here all day waiting for prince charming to wake up and grace us with his presence.”

            A soft growl was all he got in reply. “Let’s start with the easy questions. Do you need to use the loo?” Draco nodded. Harry moved forward and the restrained man growled deeply. “Now see, if you continue with that, I will not release you and let you walk over there to take a piss,” he waved, indicating the attached toilet. “However, if you will behave like a proper wolf and do as you’re told, then you can go to the bathroom and I’ll get you some food.” Malfoy perked up at the mention of food and Harry continued forward to remove the leg restraints. There was no more growling. Once all of the leather was unbuckled, he looked up and saw a questioning look on Draco’s face. “You can go do your business now, but please come right back. If you need help on that leg, let me know.”

            Malfoy nodded, but looked to harry for a moment first. “Why not just use an incarcerous?” He tossed one of the wrist manacles to the middle of the bed.

            “We don’t do that because it would have to constantly be monitored for meddling and be re-cast regularly. So long as no one helps or the patient has their wand, sometimes the muggle method works just as well. Another nod, and Draco made his way to the loo. The man limped a good deal, as the tendons were still reattaching and filling in. It would take some time for them to be fully healed.

            Harry leaned out of the door and called to another aide, asked for a dinner tray and then shut the door. Next were the blinds and then the lights were dimmed. As Draco re-emerged from the little en-suite, he could see less squinting against the bright lights and shying away from the door.

            “Planning a tryst, Potter?”

            “Not quite, Draco. I know what it’s like for new wolves. Lights are too bright, everything is too loud, sometimes even your clothes are too intense.”

            Draco looked down at his jumper as if it were eating him alive, but said nothing.

            “Dinner will be here in a few minutes.” Harry picked up the chart hanging on the wall, cast a diagnostic spell on the prone man, and made some quick notes.

            “Just how did I get the pleasure of your company tonight, boy wonder?” Harry smirked and Malfoy gaped a little at that.

            “Aside from the obvious healer attire you see, you have certain, shall we say, characteristics now that some of our staff do not want to work with.” He shrugged.

            “And before they knew it was a werewolf bite?” Another shrug.

            At that point, a dinner tray floated into the room and Harry grabbed it, walked it over to Malfoy’s bedside table, and began setting it up. Draco gaped at him.

            “What?”

            “Are you relegated to house-elf duties now, too?”

            “This is part of the job. I have to make sure that you eat. You need protein and you need to replenish lost nutrients. Be sure to drink that postion. They don’t taste the greatest, but it will help with many of the things your body is going through.”

            Harry has incorrectly assumed that Draco would refuse hospital food, but at the first smell of meat, the tired wolf dug in. In no longer than ten minutes, all of the food on the plate was gone. Next went the potions and, after a grimace or two, they were downed as well. The dishes were vanished to the kitchens while Harry contemplated the next part of Draco’s treatment.

            “Draco, we need to discuss what will be happening to you over the next two days.”

            “I’m not really up for that right now, healer Potter.” There was such a strong emphasis on the last two words that Harry could feel the words roll off of that tongue and slap him in the face.

            “Well you don’t really have a choice. As a new werewolf, and with a full moon tomorrow night, you will have to make some choices. The first of which is whether or not you will be taking the wolfsbane potion.”

            “Of course I’ll be taking the bloody potion, Potter. Do you think I want to kill my mother?”

            “It’s not just your mother you need to worry about now. You reacted pretty strongly to Jonathon earlier and he was only fearful of you as a restrained werewolf in human form. Imagine that magnified times a thousand.”

            “How would you know?” The sneer was  back in its ever-vigilant perfection.

            “Teddy has quite a way with words, if you would learn to listen to him. That would require you meeting him, first.” Harry looked down at his hands, which were clasping and un-clasping now. “He does, you know… want to meet you.” Malfoy stared at him in stunned silence for a moment or two.

            “I didn’t think Andromeda would let him near me as a boy and I certainly didn’t think that you would let me near a teenage boy—family or not.”

            Harry looked hurt, his brows drawing together and lips coming together on one side before speaking. “I would never keep him from his family, Draco.” He paused, looking through his own fringe and up into grey eyes that now tunneled straight into his own.

            “I would like that.” It was quiet, but Harry just made it out.

            “Perhaps after your first couple of changes, we can arrange for you to meet him. For the first few, your body will be in shock and anyone around you that is near another wolf can be in danger. For example, you may try to claim your mother as part of your pack and under your protection against Teddy, even though he is your family as well. I don’t want you to challenge him, Draco. Let’s get you through tomorrow first.” Harry’s smile was open, genuine, and it seemed to confuse Draco for a moment. The other man shook it off and then began pelting questions at Harry.

            “When can I leave this unit?”

            “You have to leave tomorrow.”

            “Have to?”

            “It isn’t safe for a werewolf’s first change to be here.”

            “What about my wound?”

            “It is at 80% and should be 100% by tomorrow.”

            “What is considered safe? Will the dungeon at the manor work?” At this, Harry winced, memories flooding back of his time there.

            “The bars and doors on your dungeons are probably not strong enough unless reinforced with some heavy spellwork. Can that be completed by tomorrow at dusk?”

            “Probably not. Not without broadcasting my condition or paying very heavily for it, and I don’t want to do that right now.”

            “Do you know how the wolfsbane potion works?”

            “It’s not a potion I’ve studied, Potter. Explain.”

            “The normal wolfsbane potion works to suppress the outer edge of the wolf’s instincts. It helps to tame the wolf, so to speak, but you will still change. There is a newer potion, however. It’s not widely used and it is not available to the public. It prevents a werewolf from fully turning. You will experience some of the characteristics, but for the most part you remain human. You do still need a secure area and place to run should the need arise.”

            “Why don’t I know about this potion?”

            “Because I had it developed for Teddy and I made sure that the potion master who created it does not remember how to make it anymore.”

            “ _Potter_. I never knew you had it in you.” The smirk is back now, and Malfoy is beaming at Harry, a look that sends a slight shiver down his arms, a feeling that resonates within him.

            “I protect my own, Malfoy.” This was said with such finality that Draco let it go.

            “Why are you telling me about a potion that no one knows how to brew, Potter?”

            “I know how to brew it, Draco.” He let that sink in for a minute. “I don’t let new wolves suffer unnecessarily. You need to learn about what’s going to happen to your body and you need to experience some of the sensations that come with being a wolf before everything is torn away from you during a change.”

            “Before everything is torn away from me? Don’t you think you’re a couple of days late for that? Will your hero complex never fucking end, Potter?”

            “A dose of the potion is yours for tomorrow and you are welcome to join me on the estate. It is secure and warded. I’ve had many new werewolves there, and all of the precautions are in place. Once you’re on the grounds, there’s nothing and no one to injure except stray wildlife.”

            Draco looked at him as if he’d grown an extra arm and it had twelve toes. Harry just nodded and walked to the door of the room.

            “Your mother has been in to visit you. She will be back in the morning. My shift is over now, but I will be back for the day shift tomorrow, and will have plenty of time to take you to the estate before dusk if you choose to go that route.” He paused, a look of consideration on his face as he looked the un-restrained Malfoy over. “The choice is yours.”


	3. Chapter 3

            Sleep did not come to Harry that night. Instead, once through the floo, he found himself stubbornly re-heating a piece of chicken before throwing himself wholly on to his couch. Fingers wove through greasy locks and smudged against tired eyes, but his mind was whirring too quickly to entertain calm. Would Malfoy take his offer? Did he want him to? He groaned and slammed his head back into the couch arm. It put him in a very awkward position, but he didn’t move.

            Hours later, when flipping through the pages of yesterday’s _Prophet_ , Harry looked through his window and stared out at the nearly full moon. He wondered how Teddy was doing. He would be agitated tonight, probably barking at Andromeda and being overly sensitive about any mention of his new girlfriend. At that, Harry smiled. Teddy was doing well at Hogwarts and had found a place in Hufflepuff, just like his mum. His girlfriend, however, was a bit of a squirrely Gryffindor. She was loud and always trying to get Teddy to go on some kind of adventure. A broad grin this time, as he remembered handing the boy the marauder’s map—on loan only, of course.

            He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when his wand began buzzing and the light grew ever-brighter, he jumped up, wiped some slobber from his mouth and stumbled toward the shower. He definitely needed one. The shower was quick. Just long enough to get the soap on and stare open-mouthed and groggy as they swirled down the drain. Today was the full moon. Would Malfoy be showering here tonight? That woke his body up pretty quickly and, even though he wouldn’t admit it, he decided that a quick wank wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for a work-day morning.

            Harry’s hand reached out and turned the water to a slightly warmer temperature. Steam was billowing nicely by the time his hand slid down his chest, pinching a nipple and letting out a soft gasp. His other hand rode lower over a hip bone, trailing fingers over the sensitive jut of bone. Muscles danced and twitched as he played himself like a well-worn instrument. A pink tongue darted out to lick dry lips. His head drooped down, shaggy hair falling down into his eyes while one hand continued to play with a nipple and the other made its way down to his shaft. One stroke, then two quickly turned to a soft pumping rhythm. Breath exhaled steadily, inhaling almost raggedly as he continued. The steam built around him, feeling like a warm embrace, like fingers that played across his back and danced around his neck. Head tilting, Harry moaned wantonly, grip twisting with each upward stroke. He was getting more desperate now. Closer, yet he wanted to hold on to that feeling building in the pit of his stomach.

            His head was bobbing with his hand now, the fingers torturing his nipple traveling down to wrap around and gently roll his balls. He gasped. His eyes clenched shut, hands moved, faster, and then his forehead was unceremoniously shoved into the wall.

            “Ooh.” He couldn’t get him out of his head. Everything became more erratic and he started panting just to breathe through the steam that was clawing its way into his chest. His words were unintelligible, but there was no mistaking the desire for those slim hands to be wrapped around him, that mouth laying kisses down his hip as that platinum blonde hair moved along his skin like silk… “Fuck.” He came, grinding out the word through the heart beating loudly in his ear. One hand reached out to steady himself on the wall, while the other slowly rode out the rest of his orgasm.

            “Oh Merlin, I’m fucked.” He spent the next two minutes scrambling to re-wash his lower body and rushing out of the shower. A quick drying spell helped him into the bedroom while he scrounged around for something, anything that was clean. A quick tempus showed that he was running late, and he could not afford to be late today.


	4. Chapter 4

            Thirteen minutes and four seconds. That was how long Harry would have to stay after his shift was supposed to end, because that was how late he had arrived. The change-over went smoothly after he was berated by the previous mediwitch, glaring and harsh words aside. He had five patients: two spells gone awry, one poisoning, a mending bone, and Malfoy. Rounds were short. Everyone was settled—even Malfoy was sleeping soundly with the help of a calming draught.

            It was no surprise then, that everything went smoothly for about two hours before he received a new patient with helicopter parents that would not let him do anything without prior explanation.

            “What is that spell for?

            “I’m checking his lung function.”

            “How is it?”

            “You haven’t let me cast it yet. May I?” A quick not from the hovering mother and he muffled the spell, read the results and noted it in the chart. He automatically moved to cast the next spell, but was interrupted.

            “Well?”

            “Lung function is fine.” He took a deep breath. “I need to cast a range of diagnostic spells in order to be sure that your son is stable. If you do not let me do so, he could begin going into shock from his fall. Coming off a broomstick at such a fast speed and such a height can cause more damage than that broken leg. Will you please let me cast them and then tell you the results once I ensure that he is stable?” Harry’s monotone voice must have been somewhat calming for the woman took a step back. He could see the husband’s hand grab hold of her and help guide her to a seat. They waited, but were surely not happy about it.

            Several spells were cast, notes made, and Harry was finally able to assess the boy’s condition. He nodded, left the room for a minute, despite the mother’s attempt to stop him. When he arrived at potions cabinet, he used his wand, which was keyed to the wards, and took out what he needed. One more deep breath, and he walked back to the room.

            “Okay. Let me give Dorian a pain potion and then we will discuss his treatment.” The boy on the bed seemed to perk up slightly at the mention of a pain potion. He had been moaning and grimacing, trying to ignore his mother. Harry uncorked the vial and tipped it back for the boy, watching as he downed its entire contents. Once that was done, he turned to face the dream team.

            “Mr. and Mrs. Meade, please have a seat.” He waited for them to settle before continuing. “Dorian fell from quite a height. He, quite obviously, has a broken leg. He also has several bruised ribs, which will require some minor healing and will be tender for a few days. He has also torn some deep tissue in his shoulder from trying to hold on to his broom in mid-air. These things will begin to mend with all of the potions I’ve brought with me, but I need your consent to administer them.” Mrs. Meade began to nod vigorously and state her hurried consent while getting up to coddle her son, but the husband pulled her back down. Harry shot him a grateful look. “Your son will be in some pain while the bone heals itself, and will need to be here for the next three days. After that, he should just be monitored for the following week with minor pain potions as needed. With your consent, I will provide Dorian with the appropriate potions, but after that you should say your goodbyes for today for he will need much rest and quiet.” With this, he gave a careful, pointed look to Mr. Meade. The man nodded in understanding.

            “We consent, Healer Potter. Please do whatever you feel is necessary.” The baritone voice of the boy’s father was pleasant and soft, so opposing to the shrill harping of his wife. Harry nodded and turned to the boy.

            “Are you ready to start healing, Dorian? The pain potion should be taking effect now, so this should hurt a little less as it starts to work. All you have to do is tap the button on your bed twice to call me back in if it’s too much. Do you understand?” He waited for a quiet, pained affirmative before giving him the bone growth potion. From there, a minor healing spell was cast on both the ribs and shoulder. This would be several times throughout the day so as not to shock his body into so much work at once. Small doses of healing at a time was best on young bodies.

            “Now is a good time to say your goodbyes before he becomes overwhelmed by the bone growth formula. He will not be up for conversation or company for some time.” Harry nodded to the pair, then turned back to Dorian once more. “Two taps on that button, Dorian, and I’ll be right back if you need me.”       At that, he was out the door and back on the floor.

            After the Meads, Harry was sure that anything would be easy, even Malfoy. Speaking of, he should probably go check on the new wolf. He turned to 5B and noticed an apprentice in the room, changing the sheets on the bed.

            “Where is Mr. Malfoy?”

            “You mean that wolf that was in here?”

            “You will not refer to patients by the condition they may have been inflicted with. Mr. Malfoy did not choose to become a werewolf. I will make note that your training on magical creature sensitivity was not very effective and that you need a refresher, Mr. Johnson.” The short brunette snorted.

            “Just what I need. More training.”

            “You will attend another session. Where did Mr. Malfoy go?”

            “He checked himself out about twenty minutes ago.”

            Harry looked at the clock on the wall. It was about two hours until his shift was over. Nearly four until dusk. Most werewolves would start feeling the effects of the moon by now.

            “Thank you, Mr. Johnson. Be sure to attend the next magical creatures training.” He left the room sporting a deep frown. If Malfoy checked himself out, surely he went back to the Manor. Surely he did not plan to go elsewhere? He shook his unruly mop and went back to his other patients. The woman in 5C was still burping up earthworms and it reminded him of that time Ron’s spell backfired and he was throwing slugs up in a bucket at Hagrid’s.

            The rest of his shift was quiet, almost eerily so. When he had stayed the requisite thirteen minutes and four seconds over—technically it had turned into twenty minutes, as the next mediwizard was late too, he practically ran to the floo and disappeared in a flare of green flame. When he reached the estate, Harry looked around, calling out for Teddy. Occasionally, the young wolf would come over for his changed, choosing to romp around in the large fields and woods rather than be stuck at Andromeda’s smaller place.

            No response came. A wandless spell told him that all wards were intact, so Teddy likely hadn’t come and gone, either. He was alone. A sigh rumbled from him as he trekked through the quiet cottage to his kitchen. Once there, he opened the pantry and looked around for something quick to make. His stomach was always uneasy on full moons, as sometimes Hermione called him up for newly bitten wolves or someone in trouble and needing a safe place to change. With her help in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, they had passed many new laws in regard to the treatment and regulation of werewolves. Teddy now did not need to hide his condition and could attend Hogwarts as a regular student.

            Rummaging turned up some not-so-stale crackers and cheese. He munched half-heartedly for a bit before he retired to the porch. There, he sat on an old rocking chair and listened. It was something Harry often did; he could hear the floo from this spot, and he could see miles around. The sound of the evening was soothing. He could hear several owls in the distance, and something much further off that sounded like a wolf. Not a werewolf, but one of the wild wolves that lived in the woods surrounding his place. They came to visit sometimes when Teddy was exploring. He had to remind the youngster to stay within the wards, as the wild wolves did not know him and he smelled different to them.

            In his musing, he almost missed the tingling of his wand. That faint humming against his leg signaled him that someone was pushing against his wards. He cast the familiar spell and found that someone was at the end of his drive. He was up and feeling that ungainly tug against his navel that preceded apparition and then he gasped.

            “Malfoy?”


	5. Chapter 5

            There, slumped on the ground, was Draco Malfoy. His blonde hair was matted against his forehead. He was panting, clawing at the ground, himself, his clothing. The edges of his shirt were frayed as if he’d been doing this for hours. When he looked up, his eyes were molten silver swirling like lava pools. Harry was lost in them for a moment before his instincts kicked in.

            “Malfoy, have you taken any wolfsbane today?”

            “P-Potter,” the word seemed to crawl out of his throat and he looked at Harry as if he were the last salvation for a tormented soul.

            “Shit, Malfoy. You’re a mess.” Harry opened the wards, drug Draco through, then threw them back up wandlessly. He grabbed the man’s chin, tilted it up and shook it slightly. “Answer me. Have you had any wolfsbane?” The man seemed to be growling now. “Draco! I need you to answer me.” In a heartbeat, the taller man was on top of Harry, pinning him to the gravel. His head was slammed to the ground, forcing a grunt from him and causing a bit of dizziness for a moment. When his awareness came back, Draco was panting, inhaling deeply at the base of Harry’s neck.

            “Fuck, Draco. Get off of me. I need to get you the potion. You need to control yourself. Obviously you wouldn’t be here if you could.” The blonde wasn’t listening, so Harry slowly moved his hand toward his wand. Draco must have sensed this, and started growling, his hand shooting out and clenching Harry around the wrist painfully. “Draco, you don’t want to hurt me. You would not have come here to hurt me. Let me get you the potion.” He didn’t move. Draco continued staring at him, not moving and yet to say anything else.

            With no other choice, Harry used a wandless defense spell with just enough force to push Draco off of him, but not hurt him. The blonde ended up on the ground a few feet away. In a moment, Harry apparated back to the cottage and ran inside. There were a couple of places that he kept the new potion, but one that was easily accessible. In the kitchen, he threw open the left-most cabinet and reached inside. At the left was a false back and he pushed it open. Just inside, he grabbed a vial and turned around. By the time he reached the porch, Draco was there, nose to the air and eyes closed.

            Harry moved slowly. He did not want the new wolf to pounce again. “Draco,” soft this time. Silver eyes on him. “Draco, you need to take this. It will help you relax and help ease the wolf.” He held out the vial, but kept a grip on it just the same. The man before him snarled, reaching out to swat at it. “Draco, don’t make me force you. You need to take this. Your wolf is taking over.” A quick look up at the sky showed the moon getting closer to full height. “When that moon rises, you will have to change. I don’t think you want the full change today, Draco. Please take the potion.” He could see the man battling the wolf now. A shake of the head, hands grabbing at his stomach, a grunt, and then the blonde reached out, grabbed the vial, and downed it.

            There were a few silent moments before Harry let out a full breath. Draco’s shoulders came down a fraction and his breathing slowed.

            “That’s bloody awful, Potter.” Harry laughed, then.

            “Of course it is. What were you expecting, bubblegum?” Draco did not deem that worth answering. Instead, he looked around at where he was, seeing the cottage for the first time.

“How did you get here? Why did you come? I thought you were going to spend tonight at the manor?”

            “Always the questions, Potter.”

            “I think I have a right to some answers, since you apparently found out my address, tried to batter down my wards, and then attacked me.” Draco huffed, turning his nose slightly upward, then striding past Potter into the cottage.

            “Anything to drink around here that isn’t water?” The man had already been through most of his cabinets when Harry made it into the kitchen.

            “I don’t keep liquor here, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Draco stared at him, aghast. “Most of my visitors are new wolves. They can’t handle liquor on top of a change. I just don’t bother keeping it here.”

            “Ever the hero, Potter.”

            “The potion should be dulling most of the agitation by now.”

            “From the wolf, yes. Not from you.”

            “This is my house, Malfoy. I gave you a potion that you came all of the way here to get. If you want to stay here under the protection of these wards, you will give me at least a little respect.” He scoffed at that and strode past the brunette, found the couch and threw himself on it. Glaring the floor into submission was apparently his best and only response.

            “Let’s try this again. Draco, why are you not at the manor?” At the use of his first name, Draco looked up.

            “ _Harry_ , I am not at the manor because I suddenly found myself in the kitchen, of all places, hungry for a steak. When a house elf offered to cook it for me, I nearly ate the elf instead.” He laughed at that, a full, throaty laugh. “Imagine me, afraid for a house elf.”

            “You weren’t really afraid for a house elf, though, were you?” More glaring at the floor. “Were you afraid of hurting your mother?”

            “My mother has taken extra precautions against,” he motioned to himself, “ _this_. She has warded her suite so that only herself and her house elf may enter. There are traps in the halls on the way to her suite, which she took great pleasure in telling me about. Anyone who isn’t _human_ will have all of their skin slowly flayed from their body and then be turned inside out by the time they reach the door. The sad part is, they won’t realize it’s happening and so will continue walking until they touch the door knob. At that point, they will be electrocuted.” Draco was smirking now. “However, you, being entirely _human_ could walk right up to that very same door, knock, and be right as rain.”

            “Merlin, Malfoy. She took you home. Why go through the trouble if she was that afraid?”

            “Narcissa, afraid? She has never been afraid of another person in her life. What she is afraid of, however, is losing the lifestyle she lives now. If dear mummy had to put those precious hands to work, she’d probably off herself. Besides, it’s only during the week of the full moon.” Harry shook his head, not sure how to respond to that. “Look, Potter. This is nice and all, but I feel perfectly fine. I think I shall return to the manor.”

            “Not so fast, Draco. My wards are set now. Once you’re in, you cannot leave until I let you out. You feel fine now because the moon has not risen fully yet. The potion I gave you has dulled the wolf’s senses for the moment. They will come back. They will get worse. You need to be away from people, elves, and other creatures until you ride this out—especially the first time.”

            “What about you? I always knew you wanted to sacrifice yourself. Being eaten by a wolf does not seem a glorious way to go.”

            Harry gave him a genuine smile, which seemed to make Draco uncomfortable. “I’ve done this a few times before. I will be perfectly fine.” That seemed to end the conversation. Draco sat back, crossed his arms and pretended to ignore Harry’s existence. Harry picked up a copy of _Healer’s Touch_ and began slowly flipping pages. There were several articles he’d flagged that he’d yet to read and it was only about half an hour to the full moon.

            Engrossed in his magazine, he did not fully notice the change in Draco’s temperament. It started with an increase in his breathing. The blonde sat more upright, looking around at any slight noise in the house. Harry did not seem to hear any of them, so Draco tried to ignore it, shaking his head and feeling like a twitchy junkie. When his nose started picking up every scent around him, he just couldn’t sit still anymore. Draco jumped up suddenly and began pacing the room.

            The magazine fell into Harry’s lap as he grabbed his wand and had it pointed at Draco in a moment.

            “What--” Draco snarled at him and walked around the couch to his bathroom. Harry didn’t make to follow, figuring he just had to use the loo. When the other man returned with his shampoo, he looked up with a question.

            “What foul concoction is this, Potter?”

            “That would be shampoo. Can you put it down, please? Your nails are going to puncture it and spill it all over my rug.” Harry’s calm voice belied what was happening and Draco looked at his hand. Suddenly, he dropped the shampoo and the bottle opened anyway, squirting a rope of shampoo along the side of the couch. Harry whispered a quick scourgify and it was gone, having already moved the shampoo bottle. He now stood in front of Draco.

            The panicked werewolf was examining his nails, which had grown pointed and were extended out from where they had been moments before.

            “Draco, this is normal.”

            “I thought you said your potion suppressed all of this!”

            “The potion keeps you from changing _fully_. Some aspects of the change still happen.” Draco glared at him, his storm-grey eyes back to silver. He whimpered and resumed his pacing, turning his hands over and looking at them as if they belonged to someone—something else.

            “Draco, now would probably be a good time to go outside, perhaps go for a walk.” He didn’t even look at Harry. He just stormed out the door and took off toward the woods.

            Harry called out after him, “When you near the wards, the grass will glow. Don’t get too close, or you’ll get thrown back!” Draco merely growled in response and kept walking away. Harry stood on his porch for a few moments before taking a seat on the rocking chair. He would wait for Draco. Surely the new wolf would make his way back.

            With the magazine back in hand, Harry dozed off. It wasn’t until he felt a hand around the back of his neck that he came to, making sure to stay still.

            “Draco. I’m going to assume that it’s you standing there, as no one else has alerted the wards.” His hand was already atop the handle of his wand, ready to pull it from his pocket should it be needed. The man behind him did not respond, but simply leaned down and ran his nose up the side of his neck, inhaling deeply and slowly. “Draco, you need to let me go.”

            “You smell like…” a pause, then as he groaned, leaning his forehead against the back of Harry’s head. “Pine and forest and sweat. You stink, Potter.”

            Harry smiled. “I haven’t showered today, Draco. I came home right after work in case Teddy came over.” At the name of the other werewolf, Draco’s grip tightened, then released Harry’s neck, practically shoving him away. Harry was up and out of the chair, standing with wand in hand as soon as he could. He looked Draco over to make sure that he was okay. Nothing seemed amiss. Longer nails, silver eyes, a little more muscle mass, and heightened senses. Some other changes were happening inside of his body, but only Draco noticed those.

            “Draco, how are you feeling?”

            “Like everything is on fire. I want to run, eat, I want to tear something apart, I want to—” he tilted his head, a look of pained confusion on his face. “Why do you smell like that now?” He leaned in, sniffing in short bursts, his tongue lapped out across his bottom lip and Harry had to stifle the urge to groan. A heated blush broke out across his cheeks.

            “Draco, I think you need to go for another walk. Maybe you can run off some energy.”

            “No.” It was growled. The man stalked forward, herding Harry toward the side of the house. There was no exit and he didn’t want to apparate and startle the wolf inside Draco. A startled wolf who became scared or anxious lashed out. The blonde had him up against the siding, two muscled arms pinning him there. “You smell… different now. What is that?”

            “I don’t know, Draco.”

            A tentative tongue reached out and swiped at his cheek, then. It was obvious to the brunette that some of the wolf instincts were in charge and Draco obviously didn’t have complete control. He would hate himself for this. When Harry could look up at Draco, he saw the man roll his taste, his scent around on his tongue. His eyes were closed.

            “Draco, you need to—”

            “Potter, I don’t fucking need to do anything. You need to shut up.” With that, Draco’s lips found his own, demanding, yet gentle. Harry was surprised enough that he didn’t respond at first. Once his brain kicked in, he pushed the bigger man away, or tried to at least. A taller man to begin with, and now more muscled, it was not an easy thing to do, so Harry chanced using his wand to silently buffer him away long enough to get out and off of the porch.

            “Draco, we can’t. What you’re feeling, all of the senses that are heightened in your body. It’s just the full moon. You need to go for a run. You need to get it out of your system.” Another snarl and he had a lapful of Malfoy. Somehow, Draco had managed to topple them both to the ground, landing atop him without injuring either one. There were more insistent kisses, a hand which trailed so quickly down to his burgeoning erection that Harry didn’t have time to say no before it thrummed under his grip. Momentarily lost in the sensations of Draco trying to grind his orgasm out of him and the lips teasing at his neck, he only realized what was happening when teeth bit down gently on his collarbone.

            “Draco, no!” It was too late. There were indentations in his skin, but not deep enough to puncture. Harry’s body arched up off of the grass into Draco’s embrace, nearly at the point of release, when he felt those teeth come off of his skin, soft licking in their place. He could only see the moon above him, clouds being blown away on a soft breeze.

            Harry’s hand still held his wand, so he closed his eyes and whispered the spell that would once again push the man atop him away. Draco snarled and attempted to rush back, but his wand arm held steady.

            “Draco. We cannot do this.” His voice faltered a bit, but it had nothing to do with the erection pushing at his trousers. “You need to go run this off. I don’t think you realize what you’re doing.” An almost pained look crossed Harry’s face. He turned back toward the house, throwing up another ward. “You cannot cross the boundaries of the house now. There is a shed out back which has a bed and some supplies. I will check on you in a couple of hours. For now, you need to cool off. Get the energy out of your system, away from me.” Harry shut the door quietly behind him.

            Once inside, he just made it into the bathroom, shed his clothing, and turned on the water before slumping beneath it. It was going to be a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

            After nearly a half hour sitting curled up under the water, Harry’s fingers were pruned and his knees were aching. Unfurling slowly, his head fell back and the water pelted down on his face. Open-mouthed and gasping, he let himself feel—feel the emotions he’d been hiding away all afternoon. Disappointment when Malfoy wasn’t still in his room during rounds. Emptiness when he came home to echoing hallways. There was surprise to feel the vibrations at his wards, and the ever-chaotic mixture of frustration, lust, and irritation since Malfoy toppled through them. By the time he thought through this, he realized that his hand was already stroking an erection and he grunted. He didn’t think it was right to deal with that when he had so many other things to worry about, such as a new werewolf running amok around the property.

            A few moments saw him washed and dried. Harry was excellent at drying spells. He threw on some new clothes and trudged out of his bedroom. There were approximately four steps left to reach the kitchen for some tea when the floo roared behind him.

            “Harry? Are you there?” Hermione. He smiled and turned to face her, using a wandless spell to disarm the one-way curtain charm on the floo.

            “Hey, Hermione.” Her eyes softened, taking his tired condition in.

            “Harry, you look awful. Long day at work?”

            “Something like that, yea.”

            “Is Teddy there? Did he have a rough go?” Her eyebrows crinkled when she was trying to dig information out of him.

            “No, Teddy is at home. He has a date tomorrow so he wanted to be close to the rail.”

            “Ahh. Anyone else there?”

            “Hermione, do you want to come through? There’s no one in the house.” She tilted her head, the particular wording catching her off guard. He backed away and she stepped through.

            Once in the room, she looked him fully up and down. His eyes were sunken with lack of sleep, he looked a bit too thin (he needed a visit to Molly, for certain), and his arms slunk at his sides as if he were too anemic to lift them. Even the stubble on his face was longer than normal.

            “Harry, are you okay? Did you get a new werewolf referral for today? None came across my desk. You’re supposed to let me help.” She trailed off, pulling out her bag and starting to sort through it for her planner, he was certain. He reached out a hand to stop her.

            “Yes, there’s a new referral.” Her eyes perked up. “You wouldn’t have gotten this one, yet. Fresh bite from the hospital.” She stared at him, obviously waiting for more information.

            “Continue.”

            “I didn’t think he’d come.” Harry looked down and started to drag his toe in lines around the rug, playing with a frayed edge there. She just stood and watched, unsure how to react to this strange version of the friend she’d known since she was eleven. Harry never acted like this. He was always ready and willing to help new wolves. He even received a stipend for working with her; he was given funds for any necessary items to help the werewolves in their transition. Truly, that was what had helped to fund the research on Teddy’s new potion. Shame the ministry didn’t know where their galleons went.

            “Harry. Was there something wrong with this case? Why is this one affecting you?” His emerald eyes looked straight through her then.

            “It’s… it’s Draco.” Her jaw dropped. She didn’t know how to respond to the information that Draco Malfoy was now a werewolf, let alone the fact that Harry was now calling him by his first name and seemed just so darned confused by it all. Her chin jutted out and she clicked her tongue.

            “Okay then. Let’s get some tea and have a chat.”

            “Sure.” He shifted away from the couch then, and Hermione gasped.

            “ _WHAT_ is that on your chest, Harry James Potter?” Her hands were on his shirt, pulling the collar away before he knew what was happening. He tried to scramble away, but her claws were already latched on. “ _Harry_. He didn’t.” Harry just looked at her pleadingly, not able to put words to his thoughts.

            “Kitchen. Tea. Now.” She pointed and he marched.

            Without being asked, he prepped her cup with a bit of milk and just enough honey to give the tea a taste of something sweet. Harry preferred a big glob of honey in his.  Today he was generous. Mugs on the table, steaming water sloshed over tea bags by a shaking hand, Harry sat down and stared into the abyss that was Earl Grey.

            “Harry, talk to me.”

            “What do you want to know?” The words were quiet, child-like.

            “Start from the beginning. You said he was bitten and brought into St. Mungo’s?”

            Harry nodded. “No one else would treat him. It was just another bite, so I saw no reason not to.” He laughed softly to himself. “Guess that hero thing bites me in the arse again.” That made him laugh even harder. “It bit me, Hermione. Do you get it?” At that, Harry stopped- stopped laughing, stopped rubbing his thumb along the edge of his mug, stopped bobbing his knee nervously beneath the table. Harry stopped.

            “Does he know?”

            “Don’t believe so.”

            “Are you going to tell him?”

            “He’ll figure it out eventually.”

            “Harry.” It was softer this time, almost heartbreaking.

            “No, Hermione. He didn’t know what he was doing. I won’t burden him with that. It’s his first moon. He has a choice. He can choose again.”

            “But you can’t—”

            “I know.” The words came out suddenly, but not harshly.

            “Do you want me to stay?” She looked at him with a soft smile.

            “No, ‘Mione. I’m okay. I need to go find him and make sure that he didn’t destroy anything in a Malfoy tantrum.” This broadened his grin. Hermione let out a short bark of laughter, then shook her head. She rose, setting their mugs to wash themselves in the sink. Leaning over him, she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

            “I’m here for you, Harry. Please talk to me.”

            “I know.” She turned and left with a quiet rush of the floo. He was left with nothing but his own thoughts. His hand lifted to the mark on his collarbone. He rubbed it silently for a moment before jerking his hand away with a sigh.

            “Time to go find an angry werewolf.”


	7. Chapter 7

            Clouds sheltered much of the sky as Harry made his way out to the makeshift guest quarters. It had originally been a large gardening shed, but with some architectural magic, they had managed to expand the space inside and reinforce everything so that all items were held in place securely and nothing could be destroyed too easily. Walking up to the door, he gripped the handle and tugged. It was dark and nothing moved.

            “Lumos.” The soft glow from his wand flared at his urging and lit up the space before him. He wasn’t there. “Nox.” Harry turned around and closed the door. With so many acres, it would be quite an undertaking to track Draco in the dark. Perhaps he should let him be for the evening. He would be safe within the wards. A sigh escaped him and he ran shaking fingers through hair that was now damp with sweat. “I need to get that locator charm working on the map,” he grumbled to himself. He had spent many hours trying to duplicate the effects of the marauder’s map, but hadn’t quite gotten it right yet.

            When Harry reached his porch again, it was nearly morning. He grabbed a blanket from the couch, came back out to the rocking chair and found a semi-comfortable position to recline in. Sleep came quickly, but it was not peaceful. In his dreams, Harry was chased, bitten, attacked, and then assaulted in every sexual manner his subconscious brain could think of. It wasn’t the throbbing erection or the urgent need for a slash that woke him—it was the overwhelming feeling of warmth. The sun had risen and while the blanket was now a bit too much, Harry tossed it off, stretched, and shivered. He wanted nothing more than to pull himself out and toss one off right there, but shook it off. Those dreams had been so vivid he could still taste Draco’s skin, feel his ragged cries against the nape of his neck. Harry closed his eyes, willing it all away.

            Throwing off the remains of the evening, he scrambled out of the chair and into the house. He summoned some eggs and began chopping onions for a couple of quick omelets. When everything was in the pan and he had a minute to think, Harry leaned against the counter. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had to find Draco. Had to get some protein into him. That was normal post full-moon protocol. He grabbed a protein bar from the cabinet, tossed the eggs into a couple of containers, cast a stay-fresh charm and off he went. It didn’t take very long.

            Draco was about a three-minute walk from the house. There, up in Harry’s favorite tree, he lay sprawled in the crevice where several branches split from the wide base of an old oak. Blonde hair fell across his eyes and it was difficult to tell if he was awake. Harry took the chance that he was and called out to him.

            “Draco?”

            “Mmphmm.”

            “Draco, you need to eat.”

            “Potter.” There was an emphasis on the ‘o’ as if he regularly whined using Harry’s surname.

            “Yes, Draco?” Harry had a smirk on his face, wand out now.

            “Fuck off, Potter. It’s too early for your shit.” The words were distinguishable, but likely only because of Malfoy’s years of careful enunciation. Otherwise, they would have been mumbled garbage.

            “I will not fuck off, Draco. You had a rough night. You had your first night as a werewolf, even if you didn’t fully change. You haven’t really eaten. And you attacked me last night. You need to eat. I do not want to remind you of your house elf in a few hours.” Harry laughed at himself, thinking it quite clever to remind Malfoy of the reason he came in the first place. There was silence. “Draco?”

            “I don’t want your pity, Potter. I don’t want anything from you.”

            “You came here for a reason.”

            “Yes, to get your miracle potion. I got it, now I’ll go, thanks.” Harry looked up just as Draco tried to move his limbs and climb down. The blonde looked nauseous and incredibly pained.

            “Don’t move too much. Even though you didn’t fully change, your body went through a lot yesterday fighting back the change. The potion only does some of the work. You need to eat.”

            “What about fuck off did you not understand?”

            “Draco’s forehead fell onto the tree limb that was supporting his chest and he groaned.

            “Wingardium leviosa.” While it was quiet, the protein bar that rose toward Malfoy was like a shining bit of ecstasy. He snatched it out of the air, tore the paper off, and savaged it. “Hungry, are we?”

            “Don’t gloat. It doesn’t become you.”

            “I have more down here, if you’ll join me.”

            “No.”

            “Okay, then I’ll eat my omelet and yours will be next.” Harry opened the first container and grabbed a fork from his pocket. The charm had worked well and the eggs were still warm, steaming a bit even. “Mmm.” The first bite was in his mouth and he exaggerated the chewing motions. In just a few overly-large mouthfuls, his portion was gone. He truly wasn’t that hungry. Tapping the fork against his lips, Harry repositioned himself to lean back against the tree’s trunk. “What do you remember from last night, Malfoy?”

            “Why, Potter? Writing an addendum to my Ministry file?”

            “No, I would like to know what you remember.”

            “Bloody hell, Potter. If I have to listen to anyone prattle, it might as well be me. I left St. Mungos. At home, got a little too hungry and used the floo to find your address from the hospital.” At this Harry’s mouth quirked up in surprise, but he kept his mouth shut. “I apparated to your drive, where you drug me in and refused to let me go.” At this, Harry glared, but Malfoy wasn’t looking. “You forced that potion into me and…” He looked deep in thought for a moment, his grey eyes swirling in storm. When they locked back onto him, he physically saw Malfoy shut down—the shoulders tense and his eyes narrow.

            “ _And_?”

            “And I followed your advice to go run it off.”

            “I see.”

            “Are we done here Potter? I do have a business to return to.” The way he managed to fit complete boredom and agitation into his words at the same time was an art form.

            “You can leave whenever you want, Malfoy.” Harry looked down to the untouched omelet. “The moon shouldn’t be affecting you right now.”

            Draco nodded curtly, drug himself down from the tree with only minor wincing and managed to walk somewhat normally to the edge of Harry’s wards. They began to glow and he looked back to the brunette who was following him, clutching the warm container in both hands. Harry lowered the wards wandlessly and Draco watched as the glow faded. He stepped through and apparated at once, not sparing a look back.

            Harry was angry now. The wards snapped back into place without so much as a gesture to complete the spell. He stormed back into the house and threw the container in the sink, banishing the remaining omelet. His fingers clutched the pot to begin water for tea the muggle-way, but he couldn’t concentrate. Instead, he slammed it down on the counter and let out a haggard scream.

            Legs collapsed. Harry’s hands flew into the fringe around his forehead and tugged it tightly. When he had breathed deeply a few times, he realized that this would not help anything. Draco was gone. Perhaps he should firecall Ron and go out.

            The floo was overzealous, but maybe that was because he threw a bit too much powder onto it. When the flames cleared slightly, a bushy-haired Hermione appeared.

            “Harry? It’s early. Is everything okay?”

            “It’s fine. Where’s Ron?” At her exasperated look, he apologized. “Sorry Hermione, it’s been a long morning.”

            “He’s left, then?”

            “Yes.”

            “Ron’s away on assignment. I’ve got to leave for work in a few. I’m sorry Harry. Do you need me to get anyone…?” She let the words trail off.

            “No.” Harry looked down at his fingers, which had been fumbling with his wand. “No. I’ll just get some sleep.”

            “That’s probably a good idea. I’ll check on you after work, okay?”

            “Yea.”

            He shut down the floo, charmed it again so that no one calling in could see into his house, and blindly wandered to his bedroom. Exhausted, he didn’t bother to strip out of his clothing before he fell into bed. This time, there were no dreams, only darkness.

 


	8. Chapter 8

            Hermione followed through with her promise and found Harry curled up in his bed that evening. Rather than wake him, she left some food under a stay-fresh charm on his nightstand and a note just under the edge of the plate.

            _Harry, please take care of yourself. We love you and if you need anything, we’re just a firecall away. See you later this week. -H+R_

            When he woke, the note was read and set aside quickly in favor of the rumbling in his stomach. Best friend food was always good on a morning when he forgot to eat before bed. Fingers played with the fringe hanging down into his eyes for a moment while he re-read the note. A small smile crossed his lips and he put it down, banishing the plate to the kitchen for washing later. He rose, a languid stretch turning into feeling every ache and pop as his joints released the tension they’d been holding all night. One particularly sore spot in his shoulder received a few moments of closed-eye rubbing and, while it didn’t necessarily feel great, it was better.

            Harry had to work a mid-day shift, so he needed to get his errands done early before heading off to work. First on the list would need to be replenishing his empty cabinets. While he occasionally let Hermione stock him with food for new referrals, he didn’t feel right eating what the ministry thought it was providing new werewolves in transition. It wasn’t every week that a witch or wizard was bitten, after all. He grabbed a bit of parchment and a quill. After a few hurried minutes, he had several items written down that would get him through the next week should anyone show up, along with his own rations.

            The trip to the local market was uneventful. Harry was a well-known face there and the cashier rang up his order with her usual chatter about her upcoming weekend plans. He nodded along politely, putting in the occasional question. Truth be told, he couldn’t have repeated a word she’d said. Bags in hand, he walked round the corner to his normal secluded spot and apparated home. Harry set everything on the counter, flicked his wand at the record player in the corner and waited for the music to begin.

The little country cottage was wonderful most days, but the silence seemed to cloister him today. Rather than listen to the breeze, Harry’s body bobbed and moved along with the cadences. He had always been an awkward dancer, but alone in his own home, he let the music demand how his body moved. When a particularly liquid rhythm came on, he fell into a rolling step, sliding the jar of pickles in the pantry and closing the door with a wandless spell. This bit of magic was effortless to him, comfortable. He relaxed into the music and the regular motions as he walked toward the shower.

Harry divested himself of all clothing. It lay in a heap on the floor, abandoned as he walked naked into the steam. He squirted just a dab of shampoo into his hand, lathering it haphazardly between his palms. Fingertips massaged it slowly into his hair, working their way over his scalp and down the back of his neck, his mouth slowly opening wider the lower he went. As he rinsed, the suds dribbled down the planes of his body, pooling around his toes before dissipating down the drain. Next came the body wash. This was a foggy mixture of pine and fresh rain. The flannel he used was soft, but ridged just so. Rubbing the cloth in small circles from his shoulders and arms, down across his chest, then wrapping around each thigh in turn, he sighed.  Pulling his lower lip in between his teeth, Harry squeezed some of the lather into his palm and worked it around his balls, over his shaft, and felt a stirring there. A soft moan escaped him and he began rinsing, waiting until he was yet again wrapped around his prick to stroke its hardened length.

Harry used the thumb and forefinger of each hand and placed them just below the glans. There, he stroked repeatedly upward, lifting the foreskin over just enough each time to have him gasping, stomach clenching. The water continued to run down the center of his back, diverting around his hips and coming back together near his flushed prick in the front. He looked down at his hands as they rapidly brought him closer to orgasm. Just a moment longer. All he could think about were Draco’s thundering eyes flashing before him, waiting for the storm to reach out and strike him. It wasn’t until he thought of the blonde man on top of him, tongue stroking against his own that he let out a harsh cry, come dripping across his shaking fingers. A few last thrusts upward and Harry’s hands dropped, one palm flat against the wall. He groaned.

“I’m too bloody old to pine over a crush, damn it.” He thumped the flat palm against the wall, its wet slap louder than he thought it would be. With a shake of his head, he washed his bits off again and stepped out of the shower, breathing deeply into the towel as it dried his face. “Too bloody old for this.” It was muttered to himself, but since he was alone, who else would it be to?

Harry got ready for work in a more sullen mood than he’d been in before his shower.  None of his work robes had been laundered, so he was forced to use a scourgify (or three) on the least disgusting of the lot. Clothed, a quick sandwich down, and not ready for the day, he took the floo to work.

When he got there, Harry remembered why he usually apparated. He managed to trip on the edge of his robe on the way out, catching a knee hard on the hospital floor. Said robe was dusted in soot, so he used his fourth scourgify, which soured his mood even further. The mediwizard he was taking over for, Haines, saw his scowl and hurried to give reports before scurrying away. Harry grabbed the charts for all six of his patients and headed to the floor. It was going to be a long night. All of them were high-acuity patients who needed constant monitoring. Diagnostics had to be cast on all six within the half-hour and some stasis spells needed to be refreshed.

By the time he was done with his initial rounds, Harry had long surpassed the half-hour mark, had fresh vomit down the side of his robe (causing yet another use of the scourgify spell), and his mood was only creeping lower. That was how mediwitch Levine found him, slumped over a chart and dictating furiously to a quick-quotes quill.

“Healer Potter?” He looked up, eyes scrunching when he saw who it was.

“Yes, healer Levine?” It was short, and this put her on the defensive. One hip cocked out and her lips pinched together.

“Healer Potter, you’re being requested by one of my _patients._ ” The last word was said with so much venom that Harry slammed the chart he’d been holding down, rose from his chair and glared at her.

“What room?”

“11A.” She smirked as he stormed off.

Harry reached the room, knocked on the open doorframe and waited for a response to enter. There, on the bed, lay an unconscious teenage girl, blonde and very much a Weasley. He looked around the room and, sure enough, there was Bill sitting in the corner.

“Harry, there you are.” A genuine smile lit up Harry’s face as he took in the older Weasley’s tired eyes and sagging shoulders.

“Bill. Good to see you, although I’m not so sure you’re happy to see me.” A throaty chuckle this time, and the two shook hands. Bill rumbled as he looked over at the bed.

“Victoire.” The taller man’s head tilted toward his daughter. “She’s gone and got herself knocked out by a teenage mandrake. Very lucky this one, that the silly thing wasn’t any more mature.”

“Ahh. That’s a right easy fix, then.”

“I’m glad you think so. That bint that was in here before couldn’t get past Vic’s Veela blood to cast a bloody diagnostic on her.”  He looked sour, familiar with the taste. “Or perhaps it was me.” Bill grit his teeth for a moment, then let it go.

“I’m sorry for that. I’m glad I was on shift when she came in.” Bill nodded, then moved to sit so that Harry could check the teenager over. He cast a few spells to be sure that she was stable and no more the worse for wear. “She’ll need a while to sleep this off, but I’ll put a monitoring charm on her. It will alert me directly—” he wiggled his wand, “if her condition changes. Will you be staying with her then?” Bill nodded.

“All right. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll just be making rounds.” Harry put the charm on the sleeping witch and quietly left the room, watching closely as Bill’s face relaxed.

The rest of his shift went by relatively smoothly, aside from yet another splash of vomit. He would need to look into shield charms for that. It wasn’t something he’d used before, but after today he thought he might need to. Hermione would surely know something.

A soft shake to his shoulder woke him up, and Harry realized that he’d dozed for a moment. It was Bill.

“All right there, Harry?”

Harry rubbed his eyes, wiping the sleep from them. He was groggy, but came alert quickly thinking that he missed something in regard to Victoire. “Did something happen? Shit, Bill, I’m sorry.” Jumping up, he stepped around the desk and began working toward the room when Bill’s strong grip stopped him.

“Harry, she’s fine, but you don’t seem to be.” Bill’s eyes stared him down as they always did. For some reason, Bill Weasley could break him down better than Molly ever could.

“It’s just been a long few days. I’m getting on.” Bill tilted his chin in disbelief. “Truly, I’m fine. I just need some sleep and maybe a few drinks with Ron.” At this, Bill snorted.

“I don’t think a few drinks with Ron ever turns out well for either of you.” Harry laughed, running his hand through his hair, catching the nervous gesture mid-way, but unable to stop without it being even more awkward.

“I’ll come check on Victoire and see if she’s ready to discharge.” At that, the older man nodded and walked back to the room.

Harry followed silently, kicking himself for falling asleep on shift. He hoped that no one else saw him, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone had dozed for a minute at the desk. Truly, he prayed to Merlin that it was just for a couple of minutes and no more. Knocking at the door, he heard Victoire’s soft voice.

“Come in.”

“Hey Vic, how are you feeling?”

“Uncle Harry. I am a little tired, but much better now, thank you.” She tilted her head politely, so much like her mother.

“I’m just going to check you over and then you should be good to go home, okay?”

She nodded and Harry raised his wand, whispering the spells he knew by heart. He spoke them aloud most days more out of patient comfort than his own need to. Everything looked fine.

“You’re healthy and, so long as you don’t go pulling up any more mandrakes, you should remain so for a while.” Harry smiled as she tucked her chin demurely.

“Thank you, uncle.” She made to move off of the bed and Bill supported her arm, seeing that she wasn’t quite steady at first. After a couple of steps, she was firm and stood on her own.

“Harry, can I speak to you for a moment before we leave?”

“Sure, Bill. Let’s step outside. It was good to see you, Vic, but take care with your potions ingredients, yea?” She flushed and nodded.

When both men were outside, Bill pulled the door closed. “I hear that we have a new werewolf and he spent his first moon with you?” Harry’s eyes were wide, but he sighed, tucking hair behind his ear.

“I take it you’ve spoken with Hermione?”

“Yes. I can also smell him on you.”

This time, Harry’s deep breath was not just a sigh, but a sign of defeat. “I know. I gave him Teddy’s potion, which helped. An old death eater got him.”

“Damn.”

“Yea. That’s pretty much the whole of it.”

“Harry… if you need anything, let me know.” Bill paused, hedging on saying something that tasted bitter. “You realize this is going to make your work with the other wolves difficult?” There it was.

“Not any more so than just being an outsider. At least I sort of have some protection now.” Bill’s eyes were full of mild sorrow; the kind you see when pity is just around the corner. He’d been seeing that look too often of late. “I’ll be fine.” He sounded confident, even if his fumbling fingers betrayed him.

“Okay, Harry.” The other man knew when to push Harry, and this wasn’t it. He wasn’t ready. “I’ll just see Victoire home. We’ll see you at the Burrow soon?”

“Soon,” was all he said, eyes downcast and lost in thought.

“Harry?”

“Yea?”

“Even if he doesn’t know what it meant, his wolf does.” Bill spun on his heel, leaving Harry open-mouthed and fumbling the edge of his robe with one shaking hand.


	9. Chapter 9

            The next few days passed much the same. There were more shifts at the hospital with quiet nights at home where he shoved food in his mouth and fell into bed. He woke the next day and did it all over again. All he looked forward to was dinner with Andromeda and Teddy. It was a regular occurrence and this was a much-needed respite from the rest of his week.

            Harry apparated to the porch of Andromeda Tonks’s home which she shared with Teddy. He looked down, smoothing out his navy blue jumper. Beneath that, he wore casual black trousers, but always felt that he was a tad under-dressed when Andromeda answered the door and greeted him in her finery. She smiled and enveloped him in a warm hug, her robes draping around him and sliding across his cheek like the warm fur of a kneazle kitten. She held him at arm’s length then.

            “Harry, it’s so good to see you.” Her eyes looked him up and down, though not quite as judging as Molly’s usually were. “Let’s get you inside. I know Teddy has some questions for you about a certain Veela you treated recently.” One eyebrow quirked in amusement and she let him go, moving to the side so that he could sidestep past her. There, in the drawing room waited Teddy. Today, his hair was a vibrant orange, spiked up in various directions. The teenager had a goofy grin and ambled up to Harry.

            “Uncle Harry!” Another hug, but this one fierce—until Teddy stilled, then inhaled deeply. “Harry?” The word was a question, and Harry groaned inwardly.

            “Yes, Teddy?”

            “Who do I smell on you?”

            “A new wolf, Teddy.”  The teen scrunched his nose, still holding tightly to the upper arms of Harry’s jumper.

            “But it’s been days since the moon.” He paused, thinking that over. “It smells… familiar. It’s—” He was cut off. That was when Narcissa chose to enter the room, her feet flowing across the floor without a sound. He only noticed because Andromeda moved over to her side.

            “Hello Harry.” Narcissa’s words were soft, but polite. Her face showed nothing. Harry nodded to her, trying to get Teddy’s fingers unlatched, but his grip was too firm. In trying to remove them, his jumper was moved to the side and Teddy growled.

            “What’s wrong, Teddy?” This was from Andromeda, who had now moved to the boy’s side. His hair had shifted from its original orange to a deep, angry red.

            “Who did this, Harry?”

            “Did what, Teddy?” The boy’s head cocked to the side and his mouth twisted. He leaned forward and inhaled deeply toward Harry’s neck.

            “That.” He pointed at Harry’s collarbone and the man swallowed dumbly, his tongue now dry and thick in his mouth.

            “Teddy, let’s not assault Harry as soon as he walks into our door.”

            “No. I want to know who did it.” His left hand gripped even tighter around Harry’s bicep, almost painful. Harry grimaced, but didn’t move.

            “It wasn’t—”

            “Are we having a party in here?” All eyes in the room turned to the oblivious newcomer. Harry closed his eyes. Draco. “What’s going on?”

            In an instant, Teddy was shoving Draco against the wall, the blonde’s arms flailing for a moment before catching his balance and looking shocked at the boy’s actions.

            “What the hell, Teddy?”

            “It’s you. I knew I recognized the smell.” A small gasp from across the room and a little “oh” came from Narcissa. Harry groaned out loud this time. Malfoy’s eyes caught his own in a panic, not sure what was going on.

            “Teddy, let me go.” There was force behind the words, but he remained composed, as always.

            “Do you even know what that means?” He pointed back toward his godfather.

            “Teddy, let him go.” Harry’s hand was on the boy’s shoulder. Teddy spun and snarled at Harry, but Draco lashed out at the boy. It became a confused, growling mess of werewolves for a minute and everyone ended up separated with Harry in the middle, arms spread, one palm on Teddy, the other on Draco.

            “Teddy, he doesn’t understand. This is all new to him.” Harry’s pleading eyes seemed to get through and the younger wolf gave in, huffing as he stormed between Andromeda and Narcissa out of the room. The older women huddled together and looked between the two remaining men, assessing the situation. They hadn’t said anything to either of them.

            “Draco, are you okay?” Harry’s right hand skittered through his hair, letting out a ragged breath and turning to look at the man leaning against the wall.

            “Fine.” Draco pushed away with the heel of one foot and apparated away mid-step.

            That left Harry with Andromeda and Narcissa. He looked at both of them with a blush creeping across his cheeks, tired lines wrinkling out from each eye.

            “Sorry about that. Do you still want to have dinner?” His voice was a bit higher, embarrassed. Thankfully, both women took pity on him and declined. They would eat a quiet meal between themselves. Harry nodded and walked out the door.

            His body lurched and he landed outside Ron and Hermione’s flat. The wards recognized him, so he traipsed up to the door, knocking quietly. A tired Ron answered the door in only pajama pants, scratching at the side of his face.

            “Harry, mate. Didn’t expect you tonight.” Harry’s lopsided grin fell and he walked into the house at Ron’s gesture.

            “I hadn’t planned on being here either,” he mumbled.

            When he entered the kitchen, he saw Hermione curled up in a nearby chair with a fresh cup of tea and her nose buried in a thick tome. She waved her hand in greeting then ignored him.

            “She’s been like that all day. Has some big hearing she’s preparing for.” Ron rolled his eyes and kept walking toward the couch. There, he slumped down and picked up his beer for a swig. Harry sat across from him, leaning his head into his hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure to?”

            “Dinner went cock up when Malfoy showed up.”

            “That’s no surprise.” Another gulp of beer down and Ron set the empty bottle down. “You want one, mate?”

            “Yea. I think I need it tonight.” Ron returned quickly, handing an open bottle to Harry, who immediately took a long drink and leaned back into the cushions.

            “You all right, Harry?”

            “Nope.”

            “Malfoy?

            “Yea.” Ron nods, lifts his beer in salute, and they drink silently.

            A few hours pass and at this point, Harry is curled up on the couch, a fourth bottle clutched in his hand. He’s mumbling something about blonde prats and sloppy kisses while Ron snores across the way. Hermione walks in and tuts at them both, a blanket in each hand. She tosses one across her sprawled husband and shakes her head, then walks over to Harry. He lifts an arm and tries to stand.

            “Can’t, ‘Mione.” The words are slurred and he can barely make it off the couch. His body sort of slithers down the front and he slumps there in a sad Potter pile.

            “Harry, you’re fine to stay here. I know you don’t have to work tomorrow. Sleep it off.”

            “No. I’ve gotta sleep a’ home. My bed.” Hermione nods, knowing that Harry still has trouble sleeping anywhere but home. She leans down, lifting him by one shoulder. He looks at her then, sad eyes and a tired smile. “You’re the best, ‘Mione.” He begins sobbing quietly against her shoulder.

            “I know, Harry. I know.” She apparates them both via side-along to Harry’s porch. There, she struggles for a moment with the latch on his door before giving up and using a wandless spell to magic the darned thing open. Harry’s toes drag on the carpet and it’s then that she realizes he’s left his shoes at her place. Later, she’ll toss them through the floo. Right now, she focuses on getting him into bed. All tucked in, Harry falls into an exhausted heap.

            Hermione scrounges around in the cabinets where she knows he keeps extra potions and finds a sober-up along with a hangover remedy. Returning to his bedroom, she shakes him awake long enough to get the sober-up in him, then lets him return to whatever dreams await. The hangover remedy she leaves on his bedside table. He’ll know where to look. She leans over him, pushing the dark strands of hair out of his eyes and pulls his glasses off, carefully folding them up to place beside the potion.

            “Someday, Harry, you’ll figure it out.” A chaste kiss dropped on his cheek and she disappeared in a swirl of brunette curls and dark grey robes.


	10. Chapter 10

            He tasted cotton and vomit. He didn’t quite know where the former came from. The latter hadn’t made an appearance yet, so he lurched from bed and ran for the loo, hitting the rim just in time. Perhaps four beers were a bit much for someone who didn’t drink regularly anymore. At least that’s what he thought as his arm hung limply over the edge of his toilet, his slick forehead resting there with no intention of moving anytime soon. His breath rebounded from his skin, putrid. On second thought, it might be a good thing to move. Ever so slowly, he used one hand to flush while the other held his torso upright. The world spun for a moment, then came round again.

            Vigorous was too mild a word for how Harry brushed his teeth. The paste slathered across his gums and lips splashed around with the erratic jolting of his tired arm. He didn’t bother to look at himself in the mirror, knowing that he needed a shower, but a bit too lost to care. All he did was slap some cold water across his face, towel off, and walk back into the bedroom.

            “Straight from Merlin, you are, ‘Mione.” Harry sighted in on the hangover remedy and downed it, tossing the empty phial into the bin. Feeling slightly more refreshed, he dug around in his wardrobe for a fresh shirt and pajamas. It took a moment, but he was alert enough to start a fry-up.

            Enough bacon was slapped into the pan that Harry was sure he wouldn’t be hungry for at least a few hours. Eggs followed, but they were sloppily scrambled. He dashed some salt and pepper in, keeping it mild. Grease-laden plate in hand, he was just about to sit down at the table when his discarded wand began humming on the kitchen counter. A large sigh puffed out, but he shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth lazily, grabbed his wand, and headed toward the door. It was open before he made it there.

            “What th—” His words were muffled by more than the bacon, however, as an angry blonde was storming past his front door, slamming it behind him, and stalking fiercely down the hallway. Harry stood there dumbstruck.

            “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

            “Uh, what?”

            “You heard me, Potter! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” By this point, Draco had reached him. The bacon was nearly all inside of his mouth, with just a small bit poking out. Harry chewed thoughtlessly, wide green eyes staring without a reply. “Earth to Potter.” He snapped two fingers in Harry’s face.

            “Merlin’s tits, Draco. Give a man a chance to wake up.”

            The intruder had Harry backed up against the kitchen wall and, after hearing Harry’s sleepy expletive, turned around to see the plate of morning sustenance sprawled precariously on the edge of the table. He rolled his eyes dramatically, poking Harry in the chest. Reaching out tentatively, Draco revealed the very edge of the bite mark.

            “You knew what this meant.” He did not continue, but waited for Harry to come to his senses and interject something—anything. Harry simply pursed his lips and nodded once. “And you didn’t tell me.”

            “I thought you knew. Or at least I thought you’d have some idea when you weren’t trying to eat me.”  The goofy grin was back. His brunette waves had fallen down across one eye, obscuring it from view. Instead of reaching up and hooking it behind his glasses like he normally did, he simply shook his head a couple of times, hoping it would settle back.

            “You are impossible, Potter.”

            “But I have bacon?” This was said with a throaty chuckle and Draco couldn’t help himself. His head dropped forward as he smirked and shook his own head a couple of times. Inhaling deeply, his nose rubbed just against the inside of Harry’s neck.

            When he looked up, Harry’s eyes were blazing in the morning sunlight coming through the curtain and Draco braced himself. “Completely and utterly impossible.” It was at that very moment that Harry thought he’d lost his mind, for Draco leaned forward and brushed his lips against Harry’s. A soft touch, feather-light that turned into a heated need. Draco’s hands wrapped around Harry’s waist and pulled him closer. “You smell… different.” It was deep, hungry. His mouth slanted and licked, leaving an open invitation to Harry’s. The brunette responded eagerly, his neck rolling forward to follow Draco as he tried to back away. They maintained contact, fingers tracing whispers across the blank canvas of the other. Just as suddenly, it stopped. Harry put a palm on Draco’s chest and spread his fingers, pushing just enough to create distance between them.

            “Potter.” It was groaned, forehead to shoulder, as Draco once again pressed lips to Harry’s skin. The shivered inhale in response was almost enough to ignite them again, but Harry stepped out from beneath him, leaving Draco with his hands braced against the wall, panting slightly.

            “Draco, we need to talk about this.”

            “There is no this. There is no us.” He was gesturing wildly between them now. “There is just one giant cock-up on your shoulder.” It was pretty difficult to take him seriously when Harry could easily see Draco pressing his palm against the erection in his trousers to shift his obvious arousal. His blown pupils and unsteady breathing weren’t helping, either.

            “Draco, do you truly understand what this means?” The bite was fully exposed. It was not red or angry now. The mark had healed into distinctly teeth-shaped lines, white and raised off of his chest. At the first sight of the entire thing, Malfoy closed his mouth, licking his lips.

            “I asked around, but I don’t know a ton of werewolves like you do, Potter.” The sneer was there, but marginally less venomous. Harry walked over to his bacon, which was quite cold. He cast a warming charm on it, then pulled out a chair.

            “You might as well have a seat, Malfoy. I’m going to eat while we talk.” Draco snorted softly, but turned a chair around to sit on the edge nonetheless.

            “Then talk.”

            “Well… what you did. It’s called a mating mark.” Harry paused for just a moment, but Draco interrupted anyway.

            “Be serious, Potter.” Harry’s eyes dropped a little, and he just played with the last piece of bacon on his plate, twirling it around in circles.

            “It’s called a mating mark. You didn’t break the skin, so I won’t turn.” The side of Harry’s mouth popped up a little at this, as if it was amusing, but somehow sad. “You, as a werewolf, can mark whomever you wish. You can even mark more than one person.” Draco’s face looked ever more delighted at this.

            “You don’t say? That’s good news.” Harry’s face fell just a bit more. Draco made to stand.

            “But…” he hesitated, as Draco hovered over the chair, then sat again. The word was so quiet, he was surprised that the other man heard it at all.

            “But what, Potter?”

            “But no other werewolf can touch me. I’m claimed.” It was out in a flutter of words that were hard to follow, but Draco seemed to grasp it easily enough. That piece of bacon was scrunched now, perhaps not even good enough for eating; Harry shoved it into his mouth anyway. This gave both men a chance to think. Harry chewed in silence. Draco stared gape-mawed at him without moving. With nothing more to do, he swallowed and looked up into Draco’s eyes. At the moment, they were a cool, soft grey; the color of an April rain.

            “I-I didn’t know.” The words stumbled out of Draco’s mouth before he thought about them.

            “I know you didn’t. I don’t blame you.” Truly, he didn’t. At least that’s what he told himself as Draco stood, face scrunched into some sort of confused grimace, and strode out of the cottage. Harry stared sullenly down at the cold plastic eggs on his plate, jumping when his wand buzzed to let him know that Draco passed his wards.


	11. Chapter 11

            He moved mechanically the rest of the afternoon, preparing for the support group. There were four of them now—teenagers who had been bitten in some random act and now had to deal with the consequences of someone else’s actions. It was devastating, and Harry did all he could to bring them together with those facing similar circumstances. Teddy joined often, although his origins were different. He helped them understand how it could be, when things were “normal” for a werewolf. He helped them to realize that it didn’t have to be the end of their world.

            Tonight would be the first time he interacted with all of them with the mating mark, and he wasn’t sure how it would go. They would certainly smell it on him, and it might make them nervous. He made sure that Teddy could be there, a reassuring presence if nothing else. After several hours of mulling it over with a stale sandwich and warm juice sitting beside him, Harry had a lecture of sorts about what a mating mark was and how it worked in werewolf society. He would explain it to them and use it as a learning tool. Hopefully he didn’t turn it arse up and let their usually intense, astute questions bother him. After all, knowing about it and experiencing it himself were two very different things.

            When Teddy arrived, he picked up on Harry’s tension immediately. Rather than point it out and hammer his godfather with unnecessary questions about what was bothering him, Teddy just set up the chairs, put out snacks and drinks, and set out some napkins. They were teenagers, after all, so a mess was inevitable. The metamorphmagus was dressed in his usual skinny jeans and band tee. His hair today was artfully lopsided, purple and angled to his jaw. It suited him. He watched the boy concentrate for a moment with closed eyes, then suddenly open them. Teddy apparently decided that grey eyes no longer suited for the day; blue was a much better idea. Harry snorted and Teddy grinned, the goofy smile of the unencumbered.

            Rather than having Harry greet each of the teens at the door, Teddy led them through the house and into the sitting room. Harry planned to come in once they were settled. He listened as they arrived, pacing upstairs. Once all of them were talking amongst themselves and eating the proffered cookies, Teddy went to Harry’s office.

            “Ready?” Head cocked to the side, he looked his godfather up and down, seeing the nervous gestures—the handwringing, the jaw tension, the too-often clutching at his wand.

            “Suppose so.” It was mumbled, not confident as Harry usually was.

            “Let’s go then.” Teddy placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him through the door.

            “Yea.”

            They entered and immediately, the four looked up, smiling.

            “Hey Mr. Potter!” Collette called out. She was the newest to the group and, at the moment, the farthest from him in the room.

            “Hello Collette.” Harry smiled softly and nodded toward her.

            “Hello,” called John. He stood near Collette, as they had been whispering quietly when he came in. Harry thought there was a bit of a romance brewing between them. His eyes softened at the pair.

            “John.”

            It was then that Malcolm turned toward Harry for his usual hug, but stopped. Malcolm had been the first, and they had grown close. This stung and Harry braced himself.

            “Harry?” It wasn’t a greeting. It was pure confusion.

            “Malcolm.” He kept his voice even, reassuring. Teddy stood calmly at Harry’s side.

            “Why do you—?”

            “Malcolm, let’s all have a seat and discuss some things, yea?” The younger boy looked at him for a moment, then took a seat on the other side of the room. Harry’s shoulders slumped a bit, but he looked for the fourth of the group. Spotting him in the corner, he called out, “Terry? Let’s all sit down and get started.”

            Harry waited for them to arrange themselves. Teddy sat right next to him. Terry ended up on his other side. The quiet boy always remained so, rarely offering anything to the group and only responding when Harry spoke to him directly. Walking over to the refreshment table before beginning, he poured a fresh mug of tea, tipped a dollop of honey in, and blew over the top for a moment. He took a sip and wandered back over to his seat. They all stared at him.

            “I would like to bring up a topic that we’ve not discussed yet. You’re young, so this is not something I expect you to worry about for a while,” Harry paused there and looked around the group. “However, it is very important for you to understand as it affects not only your life as a werewolf, but also any partner that you choose to share it with.” They all squirmed now, uncomfortable with where they thought he was going. Teddy remained upright, already too aware of the implications of Harry’s words.

            “What I’m talking about is the mating mark. Are any of you familiar with that term?” He waited a moment, but none of them answered. “A mating mark is a way for a werewolf to establish a claim on his or her partner.” Malcolm rolled his eyes.

            “That’s so barbaric.”

            “Quite right. However, it’s also a form of protection.” At this Malcolm sat up a bit. “The mating mark, once established with a partner who is not a werewolf, protects that person from any _other_ werewolf. In effect, that person is off limits.” Malcolm’s eyebrow quirked; so he’d gotten the boy’s attention. Collette was picking at her nails quietly, but he could tell she was listening. John looked uncomfortable with the whole thing and Terry continued to stare at the floor.

            “So once you mark someone, is that person your mate for life, then? Is this like a marriage bond?” This came from John.

            “Good question. A werewolf may mark more than one person, but again, the marked person, so long as they are not a werewolf, is completely untouchable by any other werewolf. Should a werewolf mark another werewolf, then the pair is bonded for life. The marks are not always done for romantic reasons.” He let this sink in. They were young and they needed to understand how this could affect not only their lives, but the lives of everyone around them.

            “How do you mark someone?” Malcolm, this time.

            “The mark is placed on the collarbone. You must never break the skin.” Harry’s words were harsh, intense. “To mark someone, you will place a skin-deep bite on the collarbone and your wolf will do the rest. It’s difficult to explain, but if you truly are ready for it, I can get someone for you to speak with. This is not something for you to do by accident.” Teddy snorted and rolled his eyes. The others looked at him curiously.

            “Does the marked person smell different?” Malcolm, yet again.

            “Yes.”

            “Harry, who marked you?” He was stunned by the question. Malcolm had always been astute, always been able to pick up on Harry’s body language, but he wasn’t expecting this question. Now all five sets of eyes were trained on him and he shifted in his chair.

            “That is not something you ask.”

            “So that’s why you smell different. Bitter.”  Harry nodded, but it was brief.

            “You do smell… wrong.” Terry leaned in toward him now, inhaling deeply.

            Harry sighed, knowing this would happen. “I smell different, yes. That does not mean that we can’t interact as we’ve been doing. There are no relationships between us aside from mentor or friend. The mark should not affect that.” At least he hoped it wouldn’t.

            “He’s the same person you’ve known. He’ still Harry.” Teddy spoke plainly, reassuring the nervous group. They seemed to take his words at face value.

            “Mr. Potter?” Harry looked up to see Collette twirling her wand between her fingers, hefting it for a moment before it stilled in her lap.

            “Yes?”

            “Would you ever mark someone to protect them?”

            “It’s possible, but both parties need to know the consequences of the mark and understand that there is no taking it back. Once it’s done, it’s done.” Harry looked directly at her and waited until she cowed slightly, eyes turning to her lap. He knew of her abusive muggle father and the younger squib sister who lived with her. Certainly, she spoke toward the little girl still living in that wretched household. Harry would make sure to speak more with Collette later, perhaps even have Bill or one of the other elder werewolves sit her down for a chat about the process and implications.

            “Are there any other questions? Anything else anyone would like to share today?” The group was subdued, which was somewhat unusual. Harry sighed, ran his hand through his hair, then stood. When he left the room, the teens talked in hushed whispers. He knew that Teddy would report anything out of the ordinary or if any of them needed help. It was in the kitchen that he found a space where he could let out the exasperated breath, leaning forward with his hands on his forehead and just stand there for a moment.

Deep breaths. He had to remember to breathe or else he’d likely storm off and leave five young werewolves alone in his house, which was never a solid idea. That was how Malcolm found him. The boy hadn’t made much noise coming in and the pounding rush of blood to Harry’s head blocked out much of the world around him. So when a tentative hand touched his arm, his wrist flew out, caught the offender by the nearest arm and shoved back. Malcolm was frightened for a moment at the wand tip poking into his throat, but set his jaw and stood tall. Harry’s face fell then, seeing the boy in his kitchen who had just a moment ago sought him out. His wand fell to his side.

“I’m sorry, Malcolm.” He again swiped a hand through his hair, his eyes betraying the lack of sleep and strong emotional drain he’d been dealing with.

“Harry?” That damned name was getting annoying today.

“Malcolm, what can I do for you?” The boy winced at the formality.

“Harry, I—I… does she love you?”

“Does who love me?”

“The one who did it?” It was time for Harry’s face to grow hard. He blocked much of the annoyance before it showed, but he stepped toward Malcolm.

            “The person who marked me was not a woman.” The boy’s eyes grew wide.

            “Oh, I didn’t… I didn’t know.” He stammered and looked down, fiddling with an old leather band on his wrist.

            “How could you? I am not currently in a relationship and this mark does not define me. The person who did this didn’t know what he was doing. That is why I wanted all of you to know what it means, what it _can mean_.” His words sunk in and Malcolm looked at him directly now. Harry reached a hand out and placed it on the boy’s shoulder. “Malcolm, you are a wonderful young man. I love you like a son, and I would not want to risk you, or any of you for that matter,” he gestured toward the other room, “affecting someone else’s life without knowing the consequences. Okay?” The boy nodded. “Are we good?”

            “Yea, we’re good.” Harry pulled him in for a hug, then. Malcolm was still somewhat stiff when he got close enough to be chest to chest with Harry, but he relented and gave Harry a tight squeeze before letting go.

            “You’d better be getting back home before your mum serves your plate to that mangy dog of yours.” Malcolm smirked, his devilish blue eyes smiling up at Harry.

            “Thanks, Harry.”

            “Any time.”

            A soft breeze played through the room then, as one body moved out and another slid in. Teddy came round the back of the counter to face Harry.

            “They’ve gone.” A pause, then, as the boy worked through his thoughts. “Terry says he won’t be led ‘round by some other wolf’s bitch.” Teddy’s arms were crossed, and Harry could tell by the orange glint at the tips of his hair and the red streaks in his eyes that he was on fire.

            “There’s nothing I can do.”

            “It’s bloody ridiculous, it is.”

            “Teddy.”

            “What? Do you expect me to just stand here while he’s gone and bollixed up your job, your life? The git doesn’t even care about you. He surely doesn’t deserve you, even if he did.”

            “Teddy, he didn’t know what he was doing. I can’t hold that against him. If I’m not, then you certainly can’t.”

            “Damnit, Harry! Why aren’t you angry about this?”

            “What good would it do me?” He was starting to get angry, but not necessarily at Draco. “The bite happened, I have the bloody mark. I’ve been claimed by a werewolf who doesn’t give a flying rat’s arse if I’m even still breathing. He was perfectly happy to hear he could go ‘round marking other people.”  Teddy stared at him, aghast.

            “He wouldn’t!”

            “I don’t rightly know, and it’s not my place to care.” Harry flopped down into a chair, hearing it scrape against the floor as his body pushed it just a tad farther away from the table. “I’ve had a very long day, Teddy. Can we finish this later?”

            The boy bit his lip, looking like he wanted to scream at his godfather, to shake some sense into him. Instead, he mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like _bloody git_ and stormed out through the floo. Only about half of the floo powder made it into the flames and Harry had to vanish the rest with a tired flick of his wand.

            “Damn it all!” His forehead hit the table with a resounding thumb that echoed through the empty cottage.


	12. Chapter 12

            Several days passed in relative quiet. Hermione showed up at the hospital to be sure he was eating lunch, taking him off-campus for a hot chocolate and a warm muffin each time the answer was no. He spent hours walking the paths of his property, clearing downed branches and thinking entirely too much about things that were out of his control. If he wasn’t at work and he wasn’t forcing his feet to keep moving so that he didn’t do something outrageous, Harry slept fitfully. Often, he woke slathered in sweat and having to down a glass of water before he could calm his burning lungs. He kept going because he had no reason not to.

            Morning rolled in quietly, fog enveloping the porch when his wand vibrated against his thigh. Harry lifted his mug to his mouth one more time, the soothing tea slipping down his gullet before he set it aside, standing from the rocker and placing his blanket back on the seat. When he stepped down on the landing stone, Harry smiled. There, walking up the path to his door through the haze, was Bill Weasley.

            “Morning, Bill.”

            “Aye.” Harry moved back to his chair, waving Bill over to the bench beside him.

            “You’re up and about early. Figured you’d be spending weekends with Fleur now that Victoire’s off at school.” Bill’s long hair fell across his nose. He instinctively reached for it, placing it behind his ear. When it came loose again, the older man ignored it.

            “We have plans for a lie-in tomorrow, but just now I wanted to come check on you.”       

            “Oh.” Another sip and Harry kept looking into the swirling depths of his tea as if it could give him the answers to his life, as if he actually believed in divination of any variety.

            “How have you been? I haven’t seen you since St. Mungo’s.”

            “I manage.” Bill’s eyes pierced him then. Harry could feel it, even if he didn’t look back at the man.

            “Harry.” An admonishment it was to be, then. “Have you spoken with him?”

            “No.” So Hermione had gone and blabbed to the whole Weasley clan, then.

            “He didn’t know anything. Getting bitten the night before the full moon is a tragedy.” Bill’s hands smoothed down his trousers then, coming to rest on his knees, pulling him slightly forward.

            “I know that. I don’t blame him for anything.”

            “You need to talk to him. I visited him yesterday.” Harry’s verdant eyes snapped up.

            “You did what?”

            “I talked to him, which is something I realize someone should have been doing all along. You are in place for new werewolves, but the majority of referrals you get are young teens—kids you can wrangle, explain things to, kids who have no relation or desire for a man like you. Draco is different. We should have had someone here he doesn’t know. Another wolf. Someone to protect you.” At this, the eldest Weasley’s voice was uneven. His fingers tucked those errant strands of hair back again, resting there for a moment before running his whole hand through the ragged bit at his nape. Bill’s fingers strayed to his neck and massaged there for a moment, trying to ease some of the tension out before he continued. “Harry, you are an asset to our department, but if we cannot protect you and if you are compromised, then we need to work out a new plan.”

            “ _Compromised_?” The word was small; he was hurting now. It was one thing to have Draco throw the mark in his face, but it was entirely different coming from Bill. “You think that this—” He pulled aside his shirt to show Bill the mark; the older man winced. “This makes me compromised? What about you? Does that scar running along your face compromise you? Did it ever?” At the intense look of shame that flooded the other man’s face, then disappeared just as quickly, Harry reeled. “I-I’m sorry, Bill.” The man clenched his teeth and stood.

            “Harry, I will say this to you and then leave: you are my coworker, my friend, my brother. Even though what you just said is coming from a dark place, I do care about you. We all care about you. It’s because of that that you need to go speak to Draco.” Bill gave Harry one last acidic glance and left. His wand only fidgeted for a moment then settled down, wards intact again. Harry groaned and shoved his face into his palms.

            “Such an idiot, Potter.” The words rolled off his tongue easily, as he said them so often. Unfortunately for him, Bill’s message kept hammering at him. His tea grew cold and the blanket was no longer a warm caress in the comfortable chair. Harry was irritated, uneasy.

            “Fine.” He rose, carried the blanket and mug inside, and stomped toward his wardrobe.

            Nearly fifteen minutes of contemplation found Harry in a simple black tee with a jumper over top, comfortable muggle denims, and trainers. A last look in the mirror confirmed that Harry looked good, but comfortable. It wouldn’t do to look too ostentatious. He slipped his wand into the inner-pocket holder and grumbled.

            Diagon Alley was relatively quiet this early on a weekend morning. This allowed for Harry to work his way through several shops without too much fuss. After all, many of the owners and employees knew him as the “savior” and he tried to avoid that stigma as much as possible. Truthfully, there was only one destination that he needed to get to. The others were distractions, ways of allowing him to believe he hadn’t come all the way here for a singular purpose.

            Arriving before the newly renovated Slug and Jiggers, Harry smirked. Draco bought the previous owners out after the war, looking to put his talents to use and restore his name. It had taken some time and a lot of lost revenue, but with only one primary potions shop in the alley, customers started trickling in. It helped that Draco was acquitted of all charges because of Harry’s testimony at the Malfoy trials. He shook his head. That had been so long ago.

            The door clinked and groaned as it opened, then swiftly shut behind him. Harry stumbled about, looking at the ingredients available and pulling those he needed from the display shelves. There were some items, he knew, that would need to be gathered by the owner from behind the counter. Those would wait for last. As it was, Harry stalled for as long as he could before he approached the counter. He even waited for an elderly gentleman to carry a pepper-up and some herbed bath salts, count out his knuts one by one on the till, and retreat. Harry sighed. Nothing else to hold him back, he walked up to the counter and waited for Draco to turn back around from restocking the bath salt jar.

            “May I help y—” He stopped, a look of confusion coming across his normally pleasant, if blank, features. “Potter.”

            “Draco. Can I please get two drachms of wyrmwood, a bottle of rose oil, and a drachm of Olibanum?” Short, and to the point. Draco’s fingers fumbled for a moment on the rose oil jars, but he grabbed one and turned around to set it on the counter. There, Harry’s fingers brushed his when the brunette went to grab the bottle. Draco looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, then spun to get the other two ingredients.

            “Here, Potter. Posted prices; no discounts.” Harry’s eyebrows rose.

            “Wasn’t expecting any.” Harry set the rest of his items before him, waiting politely. Draco nodded, putting the ingredients into a bag and ringing him out. Coins were exchanged Draco looked expectantly for him to leave.

            “Did you need something else?”

            “We need to… we need to talk, Draco.”

            “What in the bloody Merlin’s hell would we need to talk about?” His voice was the same pitch, but Harry could hear the panic, as much as Draco might have tried to hide it.

            “The mark, Draco. We need to talk about it. What it means. Why you did it.”

            “We’ve already discussed this and I would kindly appreciate if you did not try to discuss things of _that_ nature in my place of business, _Potter_. Some people might misconstrue your meaning.” His hand went to his covered arm and rubbed there instinctively.  

            “Then you need to come and talk to me about it, _Draco_.” He drug out the man’s last name, toying with it, rolling his eyes as he did so.

            Exasperated, Draco took a deep breath and pinched his nose. “Fine. What do you need from me?”

            “You and I need to talk. Do you want to go out for dinner or would you like to come over for a chat instead?”

            “You and I out for dinner? Not bloody likely.” He snorted. “Your place. This evening. Seven sharp. You’d better have something better to eat than those chocolate biscuits you had there last time.” Harry tried not to grin like a fool, but it was difficult. “Out, Potter, before you make a fool of yourself. Can’t have the savior of the wizarding world tripping on his own drool in my shop.” It was sharp, but not venomous.

            Harry laughed. It was not just a chuckle, or even one of those sneaky laughs that comes out of nowhere. He doubled over and used one hand on the counter to hold himself up while he laughed heartily from his toes upward. The sound rang through the shop and Draco couldn’t help but be amused. He was funny, after all.

            “Seriously, Potter. Out.” Draco pointed sternly toward the door and Harry grabbed his bag then laughed all the way to the apparition point.


	13. Chapter 13

            Harry’s mad rush out of the floo had soot spewing everywhere in his sitting room. His arms were flying and he was frantically trying to pat his healer robes down to get everything off of them. The bag he held was shaken mercilessly as he did so. There was a very unamused Malfoy sitting on the couch in front of him and Harry stopped short, nearly dropping the bag to the floor.

            “Are you fucking with me, Potter?”

            “Wha—” He was confused and began looking around for something that would upset Draco.

            “I told you to have something ready for dinner, and this is what you bring?” The other man was on his feet now, descending on Harry and pointing dramatically toward the bag of burgers and chips. Harry pulled it toward him defensively, his jaw gaping several times.

            “I got called in to the hospital, so I had to grab something on the way.” He frowned, several lines convening between his eyebrows as if in conference.

            “Why did I bother?” Draco turned to leave, his robe swirling about his calves and trailing behind. Harry stood there dumbfounded for a minute before he realized what was going on. He then ran after the blonde, reaching out to grab his swinging arm.

            “Draco, wait.” Pinched eyes turned to stare him down.

            “Look, it’s not some grand meal, but it’s what I’ve got right now. I had a long afternoon at Mungo’s and I just really need to sit, eat, and talk some things over with you.” He paused, running his free hand through his hair. “Can we do that, Malfoy? Please?” There was a bit of desperation in his voice as it rose higher in the last question. Draco’s head tilted as he looked Harry over and considered him.

            “Fine. Where do you keep the plate ware? I’m most certainly not eating off of whatever wrapper those things came in.” A snort of amusement followed Harry as he pushed past Draco into the kitchen. He began pulling plates and condiments from the cupboards, setting them out and signaling Draco to help himself. With much effort, the other man did so.

            When both meals were plated and drinks poured, Harry and Draco sat down at the dining table. It was a small affair—just a round table that had a magically expandable leaf in the middle. Currently, it was set for five. Draco made sure to sit on the opposite side of the table, but that was difficult with the setting. They ate quietly for some moments, Harry digging into his chips as if he was a starving man. His companion was a more polite eater, preferring slow, small bites that allowed for much contemplative chewing.

            “I’m sorry that dinner isn’t up to your standards,” Harry said as he picked at the last of his chips. Draco continued to chew at a steady pace. “I wasn’t supposed to work this afternoon and I had planned to make linguine, but another werewolf bite came in and the girl was only four.” Harry stopped moving, staring at his plate now. Draco’s chewing ceased and he looked up at the man across the table. Something passed between them, quiet and uneasy. “She will be okay, but she has some nasty scars to show for it. Bill is with her now, and Teddy came for a visit as well. They sent me home to sleep after I got her mended.”

            “So you’re supposed to be resting?” Harry just nodded sheepishly, shoving the last bite of burger in his mouth. “Why am I here if you’re supposed to be resting? Why didn’t you owl me and cancel this whole—thing?” Harry could tell that was not the word he wanted to use as Draco gestured to the table, but was glad he refrained.

            “I didn’t owl you because I didn’t think you’d agree to come again if I canceled.” Harry’s green eyes looked up, then. His mouth quirked in the corner sadly, expecting some form of lashing out, waiting for Malfoy to tell him how incredibly stupid this whole evening was and to rush out of his cottage never to be seen again.

            “Contrary to popular belief, Potter, I am not completely off my nut. I can understand when emergencies happen.” Draco reached out to still Harry’s own fidgeting hand. He waited until it ceased, then pulled back. Harry gasped at the loss. “Potter. Why am I really here?” The words were soft, but there was no mistaking the steel in them.

            “I wanted to talk to you about the mark.” Draco tensed, retreating back into himself with hands in his lap and shoulders straight. “I do _not_ blame you for it. It was your first moon and you didn’t know what you were doing. The potion only dulls so much.” The other man scoffed, turning away. “Draco, do you really understand what this means?” Harry had pulled his robe open, pushing aside his button-up to reveal the glazed imprint of Draco’s teeth. It took a moment, but when Draco looked over, Harry could see the man’s eyes soften just a little.

            “Just because I didn’t know what I was doing does not mean that I wish to be tethered to you for the rest of my life, Potter.”

            “Ahh, see that’s just it. I don’t think you truly understand how it works.” He was pierced by grey eyes so filled with turbulence that he could feel the hurricane winds brushing at his face. “In order to complete the mark, the wolf has to want it—that’s true. However, the man has to as well.” Harry let this sink in.

            “What are you trying to insinuate, Potter?”

            “I’m trying to say that even if you didn’t know it at the time, something in both you and your wolf wanted to mark me. Why? I don’t know, but they did and it happened.” Draco’s breathing was short now, his shoulders bobbed with the effort of keeping him in his chair. Harry could see his nostrils flair. Draco closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When they opened again, he locked in on Harry and the other man’s breath was lodged deep in his throat.

            “Draco?”

            “Why would I want to mark you, Potter?” There was something raging behind his glassy eyes now. It was too close to the full moon and his wolf could easily come to the surface. “What possible reason could I have to make-you-mine?” The last three words were punctuated with movement as Draco launched from his seat, grabbed Harry by the throat, lifted him and drug him over to the wall, pinning him there. Harry tried not to move, not to anger or excite the man in front of him.

            “Draco. You and I both know that there are things we don’t admit aloud to others, sometimes even to ourselves.” This came out strangled, as Draco’s fingers clenched tighter as the expression of his name.

            “Potter.” Harsh, almost a grunt. Draco’s fingers were bruising now, but Harry continued to hold still, waiting. “Why do I keep coming back to you, why does it always come back to you?” His forehead was leaning down toward Harry’s clavicle now; the man breathed deeply over his mark. “Fuck.”

Draco growled then Harry could feel the other man’s teeth on his jaw, planting small, but firm bites along the rough skin there. After each bite, Draco’s tongue would lap once or twice, devouring his way toward Harry’s chin. When he reached the front of Harry’s face, his eyes were closed and his lips slid over Harry’s roughly. Harry couldn’t move, so he let Draco take the kiss, mold it into whatever he wanted. Soon he felt a tongue lashing out at his beaten lips and he opened, gasping for air. Draco took advantage and dove in, immediately twining his tongue with Harry’s. Harry felt the grip on his neck loosen, then readjust. The nails dug in slightly and Harry whimpered before squirming against the lithe body before him.

“Do we like that?” The voice was silk, deep and crass, but it worked straight to his groin and forced Harry’s head back into the wall.

“Bloody hell, Draco.” His hands reached out to feel the chest of the man before him, caressing and searching for a nipple before he found it and tweaked it just so. Draco panted harshly and shivered, his platinum hair obscuring his eyes. Harry took advantage of the momentary stillness and trailed his hand down toward the other man’s trousers. He felt for a button and popped it, allowing his hand greater access.

Once inside, his fingers slipped beneath silk pants to grip Draco. His reaction was immediate. A deep groan fell forth on the end of a pant while Draco latched on to the exposed mating mark. This sent both of them to their knees. Harry’s hand began an upward glide, ending with a thumb sliding through Draco’s slit and smoothing the lubrication around to ease his motion. On the downward slide, his fingers danced and twisted, gripping harder. Draco’s hips jutted forward into the pressure, while his teeth and tongue on Harry’s mark had the other man writhing against his hip. The blonde felt the erection riding him through Harry’s trousers, felt its warmth and hardness. He was too lost in the feel of his own looming orgasm to tend to Harry, so he leaned back on the floor, allowing Harry to frot against his thigh more vigorously.

Draco’s attentions moved from the mark back to Harry’s swollen lips and they continued their broken string of kisses. Between Harry’s eager hand on his shaft and the feel of him rubbing mercilessly on his thigh, Draco could feel his release pooling deep in his belly. Harry’s breathing came shorter, his movements more erratic, his grip on Draco less smooth and rhythmic. Harry came first, stilling for a moment as he grunted into Draco’s mouth and shoved once more onto the thigh beneath him. Draco was so close that he shoved upward into Harry’s hand to remind him that he had yet to come and the brunette complied with a lazy smile, continuing his twisting, eager strokes. Just a few more had Draco’s head tilted back, a sharp gasp hissing from between his lips as his come spilled over Harry’s hand.

They both fell boneless to the ground. The only sound was the intake of their breathing, the soft scratching of clothing as it rustled between them. After a few moments, Harry felt Draco’s release start to harden on his hand and softly whispered a cleaning spell over them both. The man beneath him shivered, but reached down to tuck himself away. Unsure of exactly where they stood, Harry looked up toward Draco and placed a kiss on the man’s chest. Draco’s breathing faltered.

“Don’t think that this means…” Whatever Draco was going to say was cut off by Harry’s mouth moving over his own. Slightly startled, Draco’s hands came up to push Harry away, but then ended up gripping the sides of the man above him.

“Don’t think that this means you can just push me away, Draco.” At that, Harry stood and walked over to clear the dishes from their meal, leaving a stunned Malfoy lying on his kitchen floor.


	14. Chapter 14

            Draco didn’t say anything as he stood and brushed his clothes off. His fingers slowly did up the buttons on his trousers and put his shirt back in to place. Running a hand through his hair seemed to come naturally and a quick glance toward Harry showed his continued unease. Harry just grinned.

            “Are you leaving?”

            He considered the question for a moment. “I think it is best I see to my mother this evening.”

            “I see.” Harry nodded toward the door. “Will you come by tomorrow?”

            “Will any of the… others be here?”

            “No. Bill is taking them this month. He wants to introduce the new one to the pack.” Harry’s face turned sour and his hands gripped the counter edge a little too tightly.

            “Tomorrow then.” He turned and took a step toward the door. “And Harry?” The brunette’s eyes shot up. “As bad as your wolfsbane tastes, I’ll bring something better than burgers and chips.” He spun then, smart steps cracking on the wooden floor until all Harry heard was the quiet snap of the front door.

            Harry took a deep breath then, sinking back against the cabinet until his body slithered to the ground. His head hit the door behind him and he ignored it. The only thing he could focus on at that moment was the memory of Draco’s skin against his own and the promise of tomorrow. Without realizing, his fingers ran over the mating mark almost as a calming gesture. He hummed to himself a couple of times, eyes closing.

            Once his breathing was steady, Harry rose and flicked his wand to clear the table of refuse. He had the grime and sweat from a long shift at St. Mungo’s on him along with the distinct scent of lingering sex. One he gladly wanted to wash away in the shower, while the other he wanted to crawl into bed dreaming about. The rational side kicked in and prompted his aching feet toward the shower.

            Beneath the scalding water, Harry’s slick hand was barely a distraction from the memories of earlier. All he could think of was Draco’s panting breath, the feel of his cock pumping into his fist, teeth licking and biting down his neck. The fantasy didn’t last long when he reached up and grazed his nails across the mark, feeling Draco’s teeth on his skin. His release was immediate, but the tension remained. Realizing that he would get nowhere like this, he washed and dried quickly before falling in to bed.

            Harry tossed and turned all night, throwing the blankets off of him, only to bunch them and curl up in a ball right after. Dreams were vivid as well. Several times, he woke knowing that something was chasing him, only to realize he’d been pawing at his sheets and was now lying in a sweat-soaked heap. When his wand buzzed for the early morning shift at work, Harry swore and rolled himself out of bed onto the floor.

            His toes truly could not have dragged any slower across the hall and several times, he reached up to wipe the sleep from his eyes as if it was a seven-stone weight plunked right across his brow. Only the promise of bacon kept him moving, arms and hands moving automatically in his breakfast ritual. By the time the first strip made its way into his mouth, he was only on target to be five minutes late for work and he was perfectly okay with that.

            Robes flew at him on his way toward the floo and Harry skittered through it. Seven minutes late—not too bad considering.

            “What happened to you, Potter? Get pissed and sleep in an alley?”

            “Very funny, Ray.” Harry smiled, even though Ray’s jibe stung a little. He looked at himself to see how dreadful he truly was, but apparently he was caught.

            “It’s not the clothes; it’s all in the face. You look bloody knackered, mate.” Harry’s right hand combed through messy locks, looking up at his supervisor.

            “A bit. Just been a long few weeks, yea?”

            Ray nodded as Harry grabbed the chart for one of his rooms to review, listening to the changeover report. He didn’t miss the brutal yawn or the way Harry leaned against the station in between rounds. It wasn’t until an emergency came in that his true exhaustion was apparent. A stretcher was levitated between two field medics. The victim of a splinched apparition lay there, one third of his body missing. The body was rushed to one of Harry’s rooms and Ray followed hot on his heels.

            “Do you remember where you were trying to apparate to?” Harry was casting a variety of diagnostic spells. Part of the splinch was close to the man’s heart and he was frantically thrashing. “Sir, I need you to listen to me.” Harry grabbed the man’s head between his two hands. “Where were you trying to go?”

            “Home.” The word was a screech, and then he was back to wailing, throwing his arms and remaining leg around.

            “Restrain him. Does anyone have ID on him? Do we have a home address? Can someone locate the rest of the body?” Harry looked around the room and seeing no one move, shot a mild stinging hex at the two medics. “Are you bloody listening to me? I need someone to find me the rest of his body!”

            “Healer Potter!” Ray’s voice was commanding and diverted Harry from the remaining medic, who cowered from Harry now. As his supervisor walked briskly over, Harry crossed his arms, pausing in his spellwork. “You will walk out of this room and go to the break room for a mental health break. We do not hex victims, medics, or anyone else on premises. Do you understand me?”

            “I needed someone to move, sir. We need to find the rest—”

            “Not another word, Potter. You will do as I say and you will do it now. I will take this case from here.”

            Harry pursed his lips together, ground his teeth in annoyance and stormed out of the room. He heard the medic questioning Ray as to whether he should be helping to locate the man’s body as he slunk around the corner. In the break room, Harry flopped down on the couch and crossed his arms again. He certainly did not need Ray stepping in on his cases, but the medics weren’t listening. These people did not know how to react in situations like this. When things happen, sometimes it’s that split-second reaction that can save or lose a life. Harry knew that. He’d seen it. Sometimes he wished that others had dealt with what he had in order to understand, but they just hadn’t and, truthfully, he hoped they never would.

            He had almost fallen asleep when a rapid clicking startled him upright.

            “Mediwitch Levine, I didn’t know you were in here.”

            “Potter. I heard Ray took you off the splinch.” She was haughty, hovering over him and sneering down.

            “I’ve had a long day, Levine. Please do not make it longer.”

            “Full of yourself, as always, I see. I doubt that will ever change.” She turned and went to reach for her mug of coffee, but it slid out from between her fingers. Reaching again, she let out a huff when it, again, slid farther across the table. This time, she walked around the corner and took out her wand, casting a soft accio. Harry also cast the charm on the mug, causing it to go flying past her, spilling its contents across her splayed hands. He silently canceled the spell and the mug crashed to the floor at her feet. She yelped, then jumped back, crashing into the lockers behind her.

            “Healer Levine, it seems your tea spilled. Do you need help with that?”

            A full on glare greeted him as she spat back, “Out, Potter! GET OUT!” Her wand was pointed toward him and he rose, walking out of the room calmly. When the door was closed behind him, he snickered for a moment before letting it go. He had to stop antagonizing her before he got himself in trouble.

            Harry checked in with Ray about staffing before asking to head home a spat early. Ray just nodded and muttered something about getting more sleep. The walk to the floo was short and without interruption. He stumbled through into his sitting room, patting down his robes.

            In the aftermath of his afternoon, he had not expected to see anyone until evening. Perhaps that was why the smooth voice of Narcissa Malfoy prompted him to spin around, wand in hand, before he’d had a chance to take his healer’s robe off.

            “We need to talk, Harry.”


	15. Chapter 15

            “Narcissa.” Harry let out a deep breath, nostrils flaring, then lowered his wand. “What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

            Her perfectly arched eyebrow rose, a tiny hint of the Malfoy smirk playing at her lips. “Do sit, Harry. Nothing is wrong.” He let out another bellowing breath that he’d been holding, hoping that he wouldn’t hear some dreadful news about Draco. She smiled warmly as he sat next to her, reaching out a hand to place over his own. “It’s been too long since you’ve been to tea, Harry.”

            He blushed. “Sorry. Work has been busy and with…” He looked down, gesturing up toward his neck with a flippant hand. “I’ve been a bit busy. I’ll try to make it soon.” He squeezed her fingers gently and she nodded. “What did you come over for? You’ve only been here once. Said it was ‘too remote and desolate,’ if I recall.” Her hands fidgeted with the sleeve of her robe. She was not a fidgeter.

            “That I did, Harry. That I did.” Her smile was brighter now, creeping through her crow’s feet into her eyes. “So much has changed. I walk through the halls of the manor and the silence is suffocating. Lu- Lucius had such command, such presence that he filled up a room. I could always find him by the energy in the house. We were not meant to be apart for so long, Harry. I don’t know what to do with myself.” The sleeve between her fingers was starting to show a run and she turned her head abruptly, dropping the fabric altogether. “What am I supposed to do? Draco was all I had left and now—”

            “Now what?”

            “I can’t go through that again. I can’t lose another part of me. It was like I’d lost the ability to breathe for months. If I lose Draco, I might as well forget I ever knew how.”

            He nodded. There was only so much pain one could take. Flashes of Sirius, Dumbledore, Hedwig, and so many others passed so quickly, he was dizzy. “Narcissa, I understand that you love Draco. I also understand that his being a werewolf is painful.” Narcissa nods and reaches for Harry’s arm. He stills. “What can I do?”

“Harry, with Draco’s… condition,” she hesitated, rolling it around on her tongue as if the word werewolf would bite her and make her one, too. Harry’s eyes narrowed. “There are certain things that have to change, have already changed.”

            “What do you mean by that? He is your son.”

“The Malfoy line is a pure wizarding line, Harry. Draco cannot inherit. The manor, nor the estate can legally be his.”

Harry rose from the couch and began pacing. Occasionally, he chewed on a nail, followed by a wild gesture. “How can you treat him this way? Why does it matter if some little part of him changed? What if you had lost him forever?” He stopped to look at her head-on then. “What if Draco had been killed, Narcissa?”

            “He would have been better off.”

            “Would I, _mother_?” The last word dripped from Draco’s tongue like acid. Both Harry and Narcissa turned to see Draco’s haggard form standing in the kitchen doorway with arms crossed and anger crackling from every pore. “Would you like to see me dead? Perhaps I should have let the Carrows torture me with a few more curses? Should I have let Voldemort punish me for a failed attempt on Dumbledore’s life? How about staying on the side of the light? Surely he would have aimed for my throat first.” The last three words were growled. Harry stood between the two now, hands open and placating toward Draco. His neck and collar were exposed, but Draco ignored him. He was too worked up about Narcissa. “How about if I’d let father continue his brilliant parenting to get me splinched in the vanishing cabinet? Would you have enjoyed seeing half of my corpse in Borgin and Burkes? Hmm, mum?” Draco was leaning over Harry’s slightly shorter frame, now. “How about _that_ , mum? I can’t hear you!”

            “Draco, this is unbecoming. Please do get hold of yourself.” She looked like she was trying to get hold of her own emotions.

            “Why bother? I’m not a Malfoy anymore. Apparently I’m just Draco bloody No One. What a fantastic bit of news, eh, Potter?”

            “Draco.” His hands had been on either side of Draco’s waist and he was slowly trying to push backward. The werewolf’s strength was overwhelming.

            “Do I even get my clothes, or is that considered part of the Malfoy estate? What about my personal account at Gringotts? Are you taking that too?”

            “All of your personal items are yours, of course. Your personal account at Gringotts is yours, as well. I will continue to supplement it out of my own allowance. You will have enough money to get by, Draco.”

            “To get by? What the hell do you think I am? Some slag from Knockturn Alley? I don’t want your filthy money. Keep it. Keep your Malfoy name and the Malfoy estate. Just have one of the blasted elves drop my stuff off in some alley and owl me where I can find it.” With that, Draco turned heel and walked out of the house. They waited a breath and jumped simultaneously when the loud pop of apparition reached the cottage.

            When Harry looked back, Narcissa was wiping away a tear that had fallen down her cheek and was walking briskly toward the floo, reaching unsteadily for the powder.

            “Narcissa, wait.”

            “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Promise me you’ll look after him?” The anguish and pain was mirrored from one face across the room to the other. Harry just gave her a curt nod. “Thank you, Harry.” With that, she was gone in a blaze of green flame.

            “What. The. Fuck. Just happened?” Harry slumped down on his couch, now alone, and ran a hand through his greasy hair. He needed a shower and fresh clothes, but he didn’t know if he quite had the energy for either yet. Instead, he fell asleep.

            He wasn’t sure what time he’d woken up, struggled to his room and fumbled through a shower. There was still light out, so it couldn’t be too late. He immediately threw himself into bed and was promptly asleep. It didn’t last long.

            “Go away.” He heard the rumbling of a voice, but couldn’t quite make it out. The pillow was over his head and he burrowed deeper. The voice continued as if he hadn’t just dug deeper under the covers. He began to recognize panic as the voice continued. When he pulled the pillow off his shaggy head, he saw a brilliant wolf standing before him, a scar over the nose—Bill’s patronus.

            “—don’t know how long he’s been here, but someone spotted him running through the field. If she didn’t know me, Harry… That doesn’t matter now. Harry, you need to come get him. He tried to attack someone. He says he didn’t hurt her, but if he doesn’t get control of himself, his wolf is going to take over. Did he have any wolfsbane? We are over by—” He only stayed long enough to memorize their location before grabbing a vial from the kitchen and apparating to the nearest alley he could think of.

            Harry’s frantic steps took him off the main road and branched down a lesser-used country path. There were several moments when he had to stop and recall Bill’s directions before continuing, as he’d been given landmarks rather than house markers. Sweat pooled at his brow and fell. He wiped it away nervously with the back of his hand. As he marched, his steps were quicker, closer together. In all reality, it wasn’t too long before he reached the scene of the commotion, but he felt as if it’d been hours since he’d left.

            A quick glance around the clearing showed Bill crouching near someone who huddled at the base of a tree. He was whispering quietly while a gruff, robust man stalked about and hollered every minute or so. Harry looked around for Draco, looked for any hint of blood or a fight, but didn’t see anything. He made it about ten paces away when the wind shifted and Bill went tense, reaching his hand out to the still form in front of him.

            “Bill?” It was a slow, wary question. Harry wasn’t sure where Draco was, and that worried him.

            “Harry. You need to move very slowly. He can smell you now.” Bill had turned his head just enough that Harry saw Draco’s platinum fringe sticking out at all angles behind him.

            “Bill, what’s going on? Is Draco all right?” He took a frantic step forward, reaching with one hand.

            “Harry stop!” He did so, clenching his jaw when Draco’s eyes went wild, rolling upward. “I’ve got him in a partial body bind right now. I had to wait until you got here. Your scent is a bit overwhelming to me, let alone him.” Harry scrunched his brows together, then sniffed himself, confused. “No, Harry. Your mark changes your scent. If I can smell it, you can be sure it’s driving him mad. We need him calm—at least for a little while longer.” Harry nodded, taking the half-step backward again.

            “‘E bloody well killed ‘er, ‘e did! I’ll curse the lot of ye!” The man stomping around, waving a wand and throwing absent curses to the air was now trying to conjure a patronus strong enough to reach the ministry. Fortunately, he was unable to do so.

            “Sir, can you tell me what happened?”

            “I’ll tell ye what happened a’right. Me daughter was walkin’ wit’ ‘er horse down the lane and this feller come runnin out them woods after ‘em both. Scared ‘er horse ter death, ‘e did. When Timothy come runnin’ like the devil was after ‘im, I came lookin’ fer me girl, an’ she was lyin’ agains’ the tree shakin’. He was standin’ over there growlin’ all crazy-like. She had blood all down her fore.” The man gestured to his own forehead, using an up-and-down motion, then continued. “I made sure she could get back to tha house and sent ‘er on ‘er way. That’s when he lunged a’ me! ‘E’s a beast, ‘e is! Thing needs put down, like the rest of ‘em. I’m goin’a tell min-uh-ster Shuck-ell-bult tomorrah. I think I should take me girl wi’ me and show ‘im the blood on ‘er dress, thass what I think!”

            Harry attempted to listen to the drunken dialect, cringing at the slur of Shacklebolt’s name. When he seemed to give up on shaking his wand and screaming some aberration of the patronus charm, Harry approached calmly, laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, and whispered a memory charm. He ignored Bill’s admonition, only a tad more worried about the low, insistent growls coming from Draco. He lifted his hand from the man, explained that his daughter fell from her horse and must have taken quite a bludger to the head; he should probably go check on her. The man nodded and toddled off, swerving back and forth as he went.

            “Harry, you know that if Shacklebolt finds out—hell, if Hermione finds out you did that, there will be an official summons.”

            “I know, but what was I supposed to do?” Draco’s eyes were following them back and forth, panting shallowly against the tree. “So what really happened here?” His eyes softened as they landed fully on Draco.

            “From what I gathered _before_ I had to stun him, and _then_ bind him,” Bill glared at Draco for a moment, who glared back, “was that he heard the girl’s horse spook and take off. He found her on the ground and by the time her father got here, Draco’d roused the girl for only a moment and started to carry her back toward town.”

            “Oh…”

            “Yea, oh. It looked to him like Draco was carting her off, so he shot a hex at Draco’s back and dropped the pair in the road. Draco spun around and they were seen shouting spells at one another across the clearing. Remember Romilda Vane?” Harry nodded. “She lives just over there.” Bill gestured beyond the field’s edge. “She has protection wards set along here and they went off with all of the destructive spells. When she saw it was Draco, she sent her patronus to me.” Harry nodded a couple of times to himself. “This bind won’t last that long, Harry. You should probably apparate him home.” Harry’s mouth crinkled at the word choice.

            “I’ll take him, Bill.” As he walked forward, Draco’s petulant eyes never left him. Harry took the opportunity to remove the vial from his pocket and uncork it. He leaned forward and whispered, “You’ll thank me later. I’m sorry for this, Draco.” With that, he forced the man’s mouth open and tipped the contents in. Eyes wide, Harry leaned forward to place a kiss against Draco’s cheek and apparated them away. The loud crack of a nervous spell was the only thing left in their wake.


	16. Chapter 16

 

            They landed in an awkward heap on Harry’s lawn. A deep grunt acknowledged that Draco could talk now. Harry shoved at the man’s arm and there were no words—only a sharp growl and then he was maneuvered so that he lay on his back. Draco was atop him, pinning him with sharp, angular hips and a glacial stare.

            “Draco?” Nothing. No response. He leaned forward, lifting his hand, but hesitated when Draco’s steady gaze turned into a resonating warning rumble. “Draco?” The hand lifted very slowly, almost painfully slow as the shoulder he was using had just been landed on and wasn’t in the best of sorts. “I am sorry for all of it. The girl. The potion. I know that your wolf is having a hard time with all of this and—” His fingers traced the edge of the other man’s jaw.

“You know nothing,” Draco snarled and turned away.

“I know that you didn’t hurt that girl. I know that you have lost more than you’re willing to admit to feeling a damn lick about. I know that you and your wolf would rather I’d let you change and burn and run through the night.” He paused, tilting his head as he lay in the grass. The rising moon shone down on the pair, accentuating Draco’s locks and making him glow atop Harry. “I know that I care for you and somewhere, in here,” Harry’s fingers moved to Draco’s chest, “there is something for me. Perhaps neither of us know that what is yet, but it’s there.”

“The only thing I feel for you right now is anger. I just want to… I want to... _fuck_.” His head fell onto Harry’s chest. “Potter, why is this so fucking difficult with you?” He didn’t give Harry a chance to respond. Rather, his mouth lifted and smashed against Harry’s, barely giving the other man any time at all to open his mouth before a tongue was swirling inside, coaxing and lashing. Several moments were spent with tangled limbs, fingers running through and tugging hair, bites at kiss-swollen lips, and hips grinding almost painfully into one another.

When Draco drew back for breath, his hand reached forward and grabbed hold of Harry’s shirt, lifting him off of the ground. The brunette gasped, head dropping back just slightly. It wasn’t until Draco’s sharp nails drug down the exposed portion of his neck, into his chest and then shredded the fabric of his shirt that he realized the change was already happening. Draco’s wolf was there, right under the surface. Having discarded the strips of fabric that had most recently been Harry’s shirt, Draco dove down to lick at an exposed nipple, nipping and eliciting a surprised yip. Draco’s palm reached out to hold Harry down, flat against the shoulder and wrapped around the skin there warmly. Harry groaned at the touch, particularly as Draco was lavishing his other nipple with flicks of his tongue and then blowing cool air over the wet flesh.

It didn’t take long for Harry’s exploring hands to nudge Draco upward. His mouth trailed bites up Harry’s chest to his collarbone, where the mating mark now lay open to the night air. As Draco’s teeth clamped around that particularly sensitive bit of skin, Harry bucked up into him, his erection rubbing shamelessly against Draco’s inner thigh. Draco moaned this time, eyes closed and breath coming in short pants. He released Harry just long enough to move upward, reclaiming his territory as he left little raised marks along Harry’s neck. In receipt of such attention, Harry could only writhe against his werewolf lover and mumble meaninglessly to the stars.

A deft hand reached down to unbutton Harry’s trousers. His skin pimpled as cool air traveled downward. Draco growled again when his hand reached beneath the band and found Harry without pants. The completely unabashed look of the man beneath him made him rut as he gripped Harry harshly, pulling his cock out and tugging sharply. Draco had to hold him on the ground as he did so, for his back bowed up and mouth fell open. A grunt contorted his stomach and precome dribbled down the head to meet Draco’s thumb. The wolf smelled it and leaned down for a taste. Harry nearly lost it when that satin tongue ran up the length of him.

“Draco.” His voice was faint around the edges, heavy with pleasure.

Molten eyes looked up. Draco released him and grabbed at his hips, tugging at the fabric there. Harry helped this time, hoping that he wouldn’t need to replace those trousers in the morning. Somehow, they got them off and then Draco’s chest was exposed, but when Harry reached out, his hand was slapped away. It wasn’t until Draco partially stood to get out of his own trousers, that Harry noticed the small splatter of blood on his neck. He felt the appreciation low in his belly and his cock jerked at the sight.

Draco was on him, then. Their mouths were inseparable. They breathed the air the other chose to share. They reciprocated bruising exploration of hands, legs, and everything in between down to the scrape of toenails on an inner thigh. When Draco pulled back and physically rolled him over, Harry did not question. He knew that neither of them was in control.

            He grunted, but Draco reached back for his wand in the pile of discarded clothing. They hadn’t the preparation or the mindset for getting lube, so a hastily cast spell would have to do. He let the gel warm in his hand and then generously coated a finger before approaching Harry and running his knuckle along Harry’s spine. The man shivered, but as he reached his entrance, his finger pushed slightly, felt some resistance, then slid forward. Harry’s head dropped downward to hang between his shoulders. Draco moved the finger in and out, crooking it just enough to catch the edge of Harry’s prostate and sending a jolt through him. Harry’d had to settle his hands farther apart on the grass to steady himself. Draco added a little bit more lube and slid a second finger in, giving a minute to adjust and then worked to open the man before him, eager and having a hard time waiting. Harry hadn’t said a word. He’d just held himself still. When a third finger pushed in, his head came up and a hiss reached Draco’s ears. The blonde leaned over him, raking his teeth down Harry’s back and finally biting roughly into the flesh of his arse. This seemed to help him relax as three fingers worked him open.

            There was a soft noise as Draco retreated, using the rest of the lube to coat his angry erection. Harry looked over his shoulder and caught the other man’s eye as he lined the thick appendage up. When the pressure started, Harry sucked a lip between his teeth and braced for just a moment—trying to remember to relax—and then he did. Once the head was inside, Draco slid in at a steady pace. Harry’s hands moved even farther apart, bracing himself against the feeling of Draco inside him, seated against him, his chest now low to his back and breathing heavily against the sheen of sweat there.

            Draco waited but a minute before he reared back and pulled out, setting a pace that was anything but gentle. Harry’s unintelligible ramblings came back, this time tinged with the pleasurable side of pain. Each time Draco raked across his prostate, Harry would gasp, head coming up and a proper swear interrupting the stream of nonsense. Draco was panting right along with him, his bollocks swinging against Harry’s thigh, the wet slapping a steady white noise to the filthy words he muttered toward his lover. They continued this way, ramping toward the edge of orgasm until Harry would clearly be saying, “Draco, oh Merlin, Draco, fuck Draco, _oh FUCK_ Draco,” and Draco would back off just long enough to start again.

            When they were both slicked with sweat, delirious from orgasm denial, and Harry’s shoulder had near-purple indentations of Draco’s teeth, Draco did not stop. Instead, he allowed the burning in his belly to sink lower into his bollocks. His cock thickened, widening at the base. Harry groaned and whimpered.

            “Fuck, Draco, I can’t.”

            Draco couldn’t pull out anymore. Rather, the pair rocked back and forth on the knot that had formed at the base of Draco’s cock. His wolf was in control now. While he would love nothing more than to pound Harry into the grass, he used the angle Harry’d maneuvered them into and ground against the man’s prostate, over and over. Harry collapsed onto his chest, arms extended out before him, continuing to make small noises. Draco could feel the orgasm that ripped through the other man and left his body still clenching around his painful cock. In one last valiant effort, Draco pistoned as much as he could and found his own release. He growled out the pleasure-pain and collapsed atop Harry.

            They panted together for a moment before Draco heard a small voice say, “Draco?” There was no response. Only heavy breathing. “Are we… knotted?”

            “Yea, we are.” Draco rolled them on to their sides, his arm draping around Harry’s chest.

            “Okay.”

            Draco laughed, and it was awkward, as they were still connected. He winced and stopped himself quickly. “Okay? That’s all you’ve got to say? I just fucked you and now we’re lying here like a pair of dogs and all you say is okay? Merlin, we’re fucked.”

            “What would you like me to say? I meant what I said before, Draco.” Harry’s hand found Draco’s and squeezed. That’s when he felt the shaking behind him. “Draco?”

            “Harry, I can’t.” Harry felt something drip on his shoulder and roll down his back to the ground. Draco’s voice was husky, but not in a sexual way.

            “That’s okay, too.” His fingers trailed the arm around him. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I promise.”


	17. Chapter 17

            At some point in the night, Draco and Harry moved inside. They shared a shower, reveling in the steam and a chance to slowly wash the day’s sweat from one another before crawling into bed. So it was that with Harry’s arm thrown haphazardly across his side and knees tucked close, they slept.

            It was faint at first. The smell of a fry-up grew steadily stronger and, in the absence of dinner, Draco and Harry were heralded toward the kitchen. Just inside, Harry caught sight of a small house elf scurrying around, looking in various cupboards and shaking her head before moving on to the next. When she found what she’d been looking for she exclaimed happily and removed several fancy pieces of plateware to set the table. Draco stumbled into Harry from behind, raising an eyebrow at the man who was peeking into his own kitchen. Harry raised a finger to his mouth and pointed.

            “She one of yours?” Draco leaned forward, saw who it was and nodded, brows coming together in question. Harry shrugged and strode forward with more noise than normal so as not to scare the poor thing.

            “Oh, hello Mr. Harry Potter sir. Master Draco.” The elf bowed, nearly spilling the contents of the pot she was holding when Harry dived forward to catch it.

            “Hello, uh… I don’t happen to know your name. Would you please tell me what to call you by?”

            “Oh! Mr. Harry Potter sir can call this elf Zoppy, sir.” Her eyes swept downward, and cheeks pinked.

            “Welcome, Zoppy.” Harry reached out a hand. “You can call me Harry.” He waited for the elf to look at him. When she did, she very tentatively grabbed a finger and shook it, afraid of retribution.

            “Zoppy, why are you here?” It was short, but not angry. Draco took a seat at the end of the table.

            “Master Draco, kind Mistress Narcissa sent me with your things.” She indicated the front hall, which was strewn about with shrunken luggage and various items that belonged to Draco.

            “So why are you still here, Zoppy?”

            “Does Master Draco not want Zoppy”

            Draco sighed, leaning forward. “I would really like a cup of tea.” Harry moved forward, but Zoppy perked up and began fumbling with a mug. He smiled. “As for you, I don’t know why you stayed.”

            “Does Master Draco not remember? I was given to master when he turned seven.” Zoppy looked crushed and Harry looked between them, waiting for the inevitable falling out.

            “Ah, yes. I remember. Rodolphus was giving away all of the house elves because Bella couldn’t stand any of them. Thought they were too chipper for the Dark Lord.” He huffed and took a small sip of tea, licking the rim of the mug afterward.

            “Zoppy, you are welcome to stay. We have house elf quarters already prepared for when we have visitors.” She looked pleadingly to Draco. He waved it off, letting the elf have her way.

            “As for your things, Master Draco, I apologize for the mess.” At this, she looked more toward Harry, again looking down toward the floor. “I wasn’t sure where to put them…” Her voice trailed off.

            Draco and Harry looked at one another and shrugged at the same time. “Up to you. I have a guest room.” Harry sat across the table from Draco as Zoppy began serving breakfast. They chewed in silence, each digesting more than just the food.

            “Thank you Zoppy. This was great.” The little elf beamed up at Harry and hurried to clear the dishes. “No, we’ll get them.” She seemed put out, as if she’d done something wrong, then.

            “Has Zoppy done something to make Mr. Harry Potter sir unhappy?” Her large doe-eyes were on the edge of tears.

            “No Zoppy. Not at all. Draco and I would just like some time alone. You’ve been wonderful. Do you think you could take Draco’s things up to…?” He let the last word trail off, looking to his silent companion.

            “The guest room is fine, Zoppy. I’ll need to go through everything, anyway.”

            “The guest room it is. Please, Zoppy?” The smile was back and she rushed off to apparate Draco’s trunks and furniture upstairs. Silence fell over them.

            “I never meant to drag you into all this, Harry.”

            “If you mean dealing with the werewolf side of you, I would have been involved at some point anyway, I’m sure of it. If you mean this,” he gestured to the mark, “I guess there was always something between us. Now it’s up to us to decide what to do with that.”

            “Not like you have a choice now.” He sunk lower in his chair, sullen and trying to hide behind his fringe.

            “I do. We do.” Draco’s lips pursed at that. “You could leave. Find another. I would keep doing my work here.”

            “But they—no one would…”

            “I know. Werewolves aren’t the only creatures in the sea, so to speak.”

            Draco growled. “No.”

            “No?”

            “No.”

            “All right. Then we figure this out.” Harry reached out a tentative hand and lay it, palm up, on the table. He waited as the other man seemed to consider his options. The entire time, Harry’s hand was still. It didn’t do for Draco to see the nervously bobbing knee beneath the table, even if the bloody werewolf could hear it. Slowly, Draco moved so that his own palm was in the curve of Harry’s. Their fingers twined together and for a moment, the silence returned. This time, it was comfortable.

            “I’m not a bloody girl, Potter.”

            Harry laughed, squeezing Draco’s hand once and standing. “Let’s start figuring things out by washing dishes. That seems a proper way to start, don’t you think?” Draco rolled his eyes and stayed seated. “I mean it, Draco. You’re drying. Now get up.” When the blonde showed no signs of stepping away from the table, Harry grabbed the nearby towel, wrapped it into a long, thin roll and snapped Draco’s exposed arm with it.

            “What the fuck, Potter? Are you trying to bleed me on your dining table?” A mischievous look crossed Harry’s face, daring Draco to respond.

            “Get. Up.”

            “No.” Another snap, but Draco moved just out of reach.

            “Up!”

            “Fuck you!” Another, but this one caught the blonde across the wrist. Fortunately, he was quick enough to grab the end of the towel and haul it toward him as he stood, bringing Harry with it. As they crashed into each other, Harry’s hands landed on the other man’s shoulders and he looked into storm-grey eyes. This morning, they were calm.

            A soft press of lips met his forehead as Draco leaned in. They stood there in the quiet of the morning, only the soft patter of Zoppy’s feet above them any indication of life outside of their own. “Thank you.” Harry’s arms fell to Draco’s waist, gripping together in the back. “This won’t be easy.”

            “I didn’t expect it to be. It never is, with you.” Draco looked him in the eyes then, the luminous green vivid in the morning light. “But most of the time, it’s worth it.”


	18. Epilogue

Epilogue

  

            There were so very many nights that both of them wanted to walk way, give in, toss it all to the wind. They couldn’t. It didn’t matter how many miles Draco put between them when he was most agitated, or after a hard day at work for Harry; they always returned to the cottage.

            Dealing with the fallout of no longer being a Malfoy was harder for Draco. This was a heavier burden to bear. As the years wore on, and Harry grew to be more a part of him, or perhaps they became a part of each other, they made the mutual decision to have a bonding ceremony. Friends and family gathered. Some faces were familiar from their time at Hogwarts. Others were acquaintances they’d made during the war. Others still were family, adopted and stolen throughout their lives.

            It surprised some that Narcissa was not there, nor any of the Malfoy lineage. The only true family that Draco invited were his aunt Andromeda and cousin Teddy. After all, he’d chosen to take the Black name after Narcissa abandoned him; he was free to do so as Harry had inherited the estate following Sirius’s passing. With everyone gathered, Draco became a Potter-Black and Harry a Black-Potter. They chose to share in each lineage, so that any future children might take either name. Mrs. Weasley cried and hugged Andromeda. Both women cried on Draco, who wanted nothing to do with crying women. Harry was amused.

            Most moons, Draco allowed the transformation. After the first, during which Bill was present and ready for all of the questions, hurt, and confusion, Draco learned to give his wolf freedom. He needed to run and play, to feel the grass beneath his paws and curl up beneath the stars. At the end of each night, Draco would pad across the porch and into the open cottage door, finding a warm spot on the rug in front of the fire. By morning, he was snug against his lover in their bed. There were some nights, though, that Harry joined him.

It took a while, and many long visits to McGonagall, but Harry discovered his animagus. Surprising no one, Harry turned into a tall, wire-coated hound, much like that of an irish wolfhound. In that form, he joined Draco on runs around the countryside. In the middling hours of morning, they fell together in front of the fire, tired and content.  

Draco grew uneasy in the stillness of the cottage. At times, it was a warm embrace that wrapped around them like a familiar blanket; at others, it was a suffocating press of whispered assurances and sweat-slicked bodies. In the end, it was Harry’s restless feet and steady breathing through the night that kept him grounded. For those who knew them well, this was a treasured life. A life that had taken many such lives to build—something they would remember until the day the veil welcomes them home.

  

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For those of you who have read, reviewed, and stuck with this story through until the end, I appreciate your time. This was supposed to be a quick one-shot and it turned into much more for me. While I could write so much more for these boys in this particular story, I feel like they deserve some peace. Thank you.


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